True Detective Mysteries, February 1929

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True Detective Mysteries 1

LI e
How Would You Like to Spend an I lour With
F you could sit beside this beautiful woman and hear from her
own lips the strange story of her marriage to her brothers (one
of whom she disposed of by poison which she tested on slaves) °

and of her life with Caesar and Mark Anthony; you would be

delighted. Her story would be one of ambition and love.

As the last of the Ptolomies she was the heiress of legalized license, cultured
But she had
redeeming qualities; profligate and voluptuous as she was, she was an able
statesman, knew many languages, had unusual literary tastes, imperious will,
and a masculine boldness that made her one of the most remarkable women

sensuality, refined cruelty, and century-long moral turpitude.

the world has ever produced.

Of course you

PE

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YOUR CHANCE TO LEARN ABOUT WOMAN
Read about the woman who was forced to drink her husband's health
from her father's skull and her revenge; how the women of Weinsberg
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how Helen of Troy caused a ten years! war—and how a Princess
drowned herself to stop further wars over her beauty.

FAMOUS LOVERS
'This is your chance to read about the famous lovers, Heloise and
Abelard ; about Margarida, who unsuspecting ate her lover's heart; and
how the Turkish Emperor Orkham beheaded his beautiful wife Theodora
before his ministers who objected because she was a Christian.

HAREMS AND SLAVES
You enter the harem with its beautiful slaves. You meet the ZeZerz with
whom the ancient Greeks found solace. You see the Inca Sun Virgins and
the Vestal Virgins of Rome. You learn about the geisha girls of Japan.

WOMAN—TENDER AND CRUEL
On one hand you see Saint Rosalie and the miracle of roses or Lady
Godiva riding naked through town to help the people. On the other the
Russian countess who had water poured over nude girls to make frozen
statues; the French women who sat unmoved as heads fell from the guil-
lotine; and Empress Irene who blinded her son—yet was made a saint.

MANY CURIOUS STORIES
You read the curious stories of how Princess Eleanor proved to council
she was not a leper; how Empress Eudocia was expelled from the palace
almost naked; how ar emperor’s sister was forced to appear in court tied
in a bag full of cats; and how Empress Helena buried her husband
and sons with her own hands to save their bodies from the dogs.

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A FEW OF THE STRANGE TALES

You will read how Emperor Theophilus chose his bride; how the
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of a child of that beauty, Ninon de Lenclos; of how her son unsuspecting
fell in love with her and, upon learning the truth, shot himself.

YOU MEET FAMOUS WOMEN

You meet Catherine the Great, Jeanne d'Arc, Madame du Barry, Em-
press Josephine, Marie Antoinette, Nell Gwyn, Messalina, Lucrezia Borgia,
the Queen of Sheba, Jezebel, and hundreds upon hundreds of others.

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GOOD WOMEN AND BAD S ACT

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TRUE DETECTIVE MYSTERIES

A MACFADDEN PUBLICATION

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GANG MURDER. .. 9... lei ae paisa ss © voee s v NER RIIEENM Leser op en DIU AA George William Wilder 17 y
INSIDE STORY OF GEORGE REMUS —'BOOTLEG KING".................. . ... -Mary Chenoweth 18 d
One of the most sensational stories of breaking the law on a wholesale scale ever printed!
THE RED CLAY CLOR "ECCE ne a a ee cece te snes c dile vs Joseph W. Gavan 25 ||
In the vicious murder of this young girl, Detective Epps was up against a tough case! i)
“PAY TEN THOUSAND- OR DIR ear rh Rest eta es ........Madeline Kelley 28 M
Bound, gagged, in torture—George L. Ohlhausen, of Los Angeles, thought his last hour had come!

WHY WEALTHSX WOMEN SLEAN sete... O ON o o e + o a REN tier e eae aR Isabel Stephen 33

Why do they steal? Amelia De Santis, New York's clever woman detective, tells why

THETFARM OF FHESEVENIUNSIMNES oe, onos eno creer EAAS EN ST rre mrt n PIOS: Jerry E. Cravey 38

Inside story of the mysterious Oberst horror!

ATE Harry T. Brundige 44

An unparalleled, cold-blooded confession by the notorious. criminal, Ray Renard, now in Leavenworth Prison

HOW GUILTY WAS MARY BINETEDBD:-....-.— E Less oe eres SEOR IS M. K. Hannah 46

Pretty Mary Binetti, caught in the net of circumstance—and the tragic end no one could foresee!

TRACKED THROUGH CHINATOWN: e tite occas veces CUMMINS es ee oes

Hoyos sets out to get Len Tang, the wily Chinese gunman—and has the fight of his life!

==

E

.......Herman Hoyos 49

==

THE: BUNGO MELIANI «5, clecce inet See ies rmx n «Sher alaupin) s era SR E tee a UTES ond hte diate Wilbert Wadleigh 53
The life of Al Cody, international detective, is threatened. Will he give up?

THE HOLLOW TREE HORROR? ... 7:2 cee oo reser EE EE. Lass sonis vain Jack Wooten 56
Was it human flesh the detective found?

THE SAN FRANCISCO STEEPLE MURDERS ...:.. ... eee ee ete e eee cece ewes otal H. W.Corley 61
The most horrible murder of two young girls ever perpetrated

CONTRIBUTORS’ COLUMN—Who the Writers Are and What They Are Doing ........ 2.0.60. ceeeeeeeeee 4

Cover Design painted by Norman E. Jennett
Next

Next, IS LOWENSTEIN STILL ALIVE?

"TAPPED WIRES!” WHO REALLY KNOWS—

sE SSS SSS

Ses

Inside story of the sensational Evergreen Park train
hold-up, Chicago, February 28, 1928—$133,000.00
in cash taken from a Grand Trunk train in broad
daylight. Mystery, suspense—a daring job. But
the clever detective work to get “Limping Charlie”
Cleaver was better! Don't miss this thriller—with
actual photos.

The MYSTERY of the MISSING HEAD

Who was the attractive young girl, horribly butch-
ered near Fort Thomas, Kentucky? She had been
seen in the company of a young medical student. ....
Holds you spellbound with its frightful cruelty.
There is a lesson in it to all young girls!

“I ESCAPED From HELL!”

A French ex-convict tells in his own words to
readers of this magazine, of his years in hell—in
the “living death" at Royale Island, French Penal
Colony, off the coast of Guiana—and his sensa-
tional escape!

the circumstances of Captain Alfred Lowenstein's
strange death?—or was it a disappearance? Is it
possible the great Belgian financier, one of the
world's richest men, still lives? Did he actually
fall from his airplane into the English Channel?
Read the astounding story of what happened, in
next month's issue of this magazine.

“MUGGING the CRIMINAL”

Have you ever said, in looking at a friend’s photo:
“Why—I wouldn't have known you!" What about
a "wanted" criminal, when the police have only one
photo of him—which may not look like him! '*Mug-
ging the Criminal" tells the dramatic story of
“why’’—and “how.” Don't miss it.

The MYSTERIOUS MURDER of MRS.
HASKELL

In Texas this famous case is still discussed in
whispers. For the first time, the man who un-
earthed the murder—solved the mystery—tells his
own story of what happened.

Also THE ACID CLUE, a great case by Detective Ellis Parker —WHAT BECOMES OF THE GIRLS WHO
DISAPPEAR?—ON THE TRAIL OF THE ''*FOX'"—''DENVER DUDE” and other great detective fact

stories—all in the March TRUE DETECTIVE MYSTERIES, on sale at all news stands on February 15th.

(MEMBER OF TRUE ROMANCES GROUP)

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PUBLISHED MONTHLY BY NEW METROPOLITAN FICTION, INC., WASHINGTON AND SOUTH A
Editorial and General Offices: 1926 Broadway, New York, N. Y. Advertising Offices: Graybar Building, New York City.
Edwin E. Zoty, President 1 M. A. Wood, Secretary Gilbert L. Parks, Advertising Director
Copyright, 1929. by New Metropolitan Fiction, Inc. Copyright also in Canada and’Great Britain.
Entered as second class matter, E 27, 1928, at the Post Office at Dunellen, New Jersey, under the Act of March 3, 1879. Additional entry at New York, N. Y.
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Contributors are advised to retain copies of their contributions; otherwise they are taking an unnecessary risk. Every effort will be made by us to return unavailable
manuscripts, photographs and drawings, but we will not be responsible for any losses of such matter contributed. The pictures used in this magazine to illustrate the
stories are of actual people, but ure not intended to be a likeness of, nor to depict the individuals named in such stories, unless such pictures are specifically labeled.

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True Detective Mysteries

THIS MONTH’S

ARY CHENO-

WETH, au-

thor of Inside
Story of George
Remus--' Bootleg
King," appearing on
page 18, this issue,
has been on tbe
staffs of the Louis-
ville Courier-Jour-
nal and Louisville
Times for more than
ten years, and is
the only woman on
record ever assigned
to the Remus case.
On this case she han-
dled not only the
straight news, but
the feature angle as
well.

Miss Chenoweth
first jumped into the
lime-light in the
spring of 1921 with the exposé of the Remus
Drug Company, in Covington, Kentucky,
six months before the arrest of the “Whisky
King"—which event marked the first link
in the downfall of this remarkable man,
George Remus. This article, which was
followed by a series of political exposés,
created somewhat of a sensation in Ken-
tucky, and brought forth editorial comment
from numerous rival newspapers.

Born in Knoxville, Tennessee, Miss
Chenoweth comes of an old Southern
family. Her mother was a native of Ala-
bama, and her father came from Virginia.
She has lived in Louisville practically all
of her life.

Unlike most newspaper women, her en-
trance into the newspaper game was not
preceded by any long-cherished dream, or
course in journalism. It came on the spur
of the moment. Fifteen minutes before she
entered her profession, she had never given
reportorial work a thought. She had been
a singer in church choirs in Louisville, and
a musical career was her aim. With a view
to making money to further her musical
career, she took a business course, at the
completion of which she went into the office
of the Courier-Journal to ask a friend if she
knew of an opening for a stenographer.

"Why don't you cub?" the friend asked.
"Why not try your hand at reporting?"

Miss Chenoweth admits that instantly
the thought thrilled her. She made a quick
decision, went directly to the city editor and
asked permission to work without pay until
she could demonstrate her fitness for the
work.

Miss Chenoweth bears the unusual record
of having jumped directly into “top of the
column" front page news, and her career
since that time has been both sensational
and spectacular. She is, however, not a
"stunt" reporter, her work having been
connected directly with straight news. She
became so interested and thrilled with her
job as time went on that she gave up the
idea of a musical career to devote her time
and energies entirely to newspaper work.

In the spring of 1922, Miss Chenoweth
was assigned to the Courier-Journal Frank-
fort Bureau for the Session of the Kentucky
General Assembly. At the close of the first
month she was instructed by her office to

MARY CHENOWETH

CONTRIBUTORS

take over a confiden-
tial investigation
which took her away
from Frankfort. A
petition, signed by
eighty members of
the House and Senate
(which practi-
cally every member
attending the Gen-
eral Assembly) was
sent to Judge Robert
W. Bingham, pub-
lisher of the
newspaper she
represented, urging
that she be retained
in Frankfort during
the Session of the
General Assembly—
"because of her fair-
ness and accuracy in
handling news." So
states the petition,
which bears the date of January 21st, 1922.
This request from the General Assembly
was complied with. So far as is known, she
is the only reporter in America, either man
or woman, to have been the recipient of a
similar honor.

Miss Chenoweth was later sent into the
mountains of Kentucky, to what is known
in that section as “Bloody Breathitt," to
investigate the famous ''Clayhole Election
Murders," where four men were killed,
twenty-one wounded, and the ballot-boxes
thrown into the creek there. Her excellent
work in this connection was commended by
many of the newspapers of the State.

She also made a trip through the moun-
tains of Kentucky, riding a mule intc terri-
tory seldom traveled, and miles from any
railroad. This trip was to investigate and
write for her paper a series of articles on
mail-order frauds, alleged to have existed
in that section.

'The search for news and feature stories
for her paper, has taken Miss Chenoweth
into many dangerous situations. She has
been on moonshine liquor raids in the moun-
tains of Kentucky with Federal Prohibition
agents, where her party has been fired on,
and knows how it feels to look squarely into
the barrel of a moonshiner's gun, when a false
move meant death.

Perhaps the most spectacular and con-
vincing work of Miss Chenoweth's career
was in connection with the Remus case.
During her investigations in this famous
case on numerous occasions she involved
the names of Federal officials and politicians,
whose names had not previously been con-
nected with it in court records. But from
her exposés in well-known cases she has
never failed to emerge in the clear. During
her ten years' experience in handling work
of this nature she has not involved her paper
in a single retraction.

Incidentally it may be mentioned that
this successful girl reporter enjoys the dis-
tinction of having been presented to the
President of the United States. When she
was in Washington in May, 1928, she was
unofficially presented to President Calvin
Coolidge in his private office, by the Presi-
dent's close personal friend, Edward F.
Colladay, Republican National Committee-
man from the District of Columbia.

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f lvpaid lerk. h ING—how it has become the most important branch
pated. Thon diam Or experience—havegonefrom poorly pai positions as clerks, mechanics, of every kind of manufacturing and building construc-
thorough and practical building trade workers and laborers into Drafting positions paying $50 e OR SP oe oa eee aa ar aa
RE siren by Amer to $100 a week, with our help. Now with a job and a raise waiting for Fiel oos x us "i t ie fine gosh
1 have gone from tracerto — you as soon as you are ready for it, all it takes is the COURAGE to go Offellows you'll work with—the big salaries paid—the
Chief Draftsman im fter it—now if you remain in the rut it's because you choose to, not Wonderful chances for advancement. How, while Draft-
and engineering workin — because you have to. ing is white-collar office work, it is hooked up closely

one of the oldest offices with big projects and big men, ’and offers the thrill that
R. L. WARREN,

1R K WARREN. e goes with making plans which govern every move of
Angeles, Cali ra in SSOnS the men who do the work. All this inside dope takes a
true book to describe and I'll
be glad to send you a copy free

Actually FREE to |

when you mail the coupon for my
show you how interesting

b
“Only one other man

dI, of six taking Cali- ry : :
foraia Sate Boece — Thousands of men—not a bit smarter than you, with no more schooling

no-risk job and raise plan.
CO.

Director Extension Work.

“When I started Amer-
ican School training in
the Spring of 1915 1
was working 14 hours a
night, seven nights a week
for $1.83 a night. That
Fall I got a job in the
Engineering Dept. of a
large firm near here.
day I work 514 days a
week and my salary is
larger than I ever dream-
ed of when I began that
course in Mechanical
Drafting.”

. H. SEAVERNS,

South Bend, Ind.

and simple Drafting is

Maybe you think Drafting is ‘‘over your head"—that it
takes artistic talent or some ability you haven't got. In that
case you have a pleasant surprise coming to you. For I'll be
glad to send you the first threelessons from our home-train-
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ever tackled. It takes little enough courage to look into this

wonderful opportunity —just mail the coupon and see for yourself how you

like Drafting and our guaranteed way to get into it.

The American School D se eee ti

1
: THE AMERICAN SCHOOL i
| Dept. D-2311, Drexel Ave. and 58th St., Chicago ,
! Please send without cost or obligation, 3 Drafting |
! Lessons, 36-page book with the inside dope about §
! Drafting and your no-risk plan and guarantee to |
- prepare me, to place me and raise my pay, or no cost. -
E ee DET O O E E R T i
! i
Wl USP OM rat occa dcnicees IE UEROR qur ae EX aisle 1
I 1
H CU disi d EE NS EMRE so aes wv oa» ole 1

1
i AER ENT Occupation. «eere YA RTIODE []

True Detective Mysteries

7

ISellRecords a Queer Way

So people tell me, because I will gladly send to any person who sends me his name and address, a selection of ten records absolutely
ON TRIAL, entirely at my risk. Choose any records you want.

Furthermore, I positively insist that you return the records to me at once, if they are in any way inferior to records that sell for three
or four times as much. Don't be "sorry" for me, but shoot the records back, and let me stand the postage expense both ways, unless
the records are better, clearer and richer in tone than any records you have ever before had, at any price.

I have built a million-dollar business in records on just these ''queer" methods, trusting absolutely in the honesty of my customers,

and making them the sole judge of whether or not
the records will cost them even one cent. A 1 O

I've built these records to give you pleasure, en-

joyment and some real honest good times for months
and years to come. I've tried to study the wishes and
10 Days’

tastes of the great music-loving public and I’ve col-
lected in this list below, the very CREAM of my entire
catalog. All the records are electrically recorded—and

C

Special List of BEST Sellers

My Angel Hallelujah I'm A Bum
Girl of My Dreams Sonny Boy

Ford Has Made A Lady Out of Lizzie

Wreck of the Old 97
Ramona
Rovin' Gambler
My Blue Heaven

nearly all of them have been done within the last few
months, and are in the very latest and best style of the
present day. They are all in the standard ten-inch size
with music on both sides and play on any phonograph,
just like 75-cent records. They include the most recent
hits, as well as famous old favorites; and I'm willing to

stake my last dollar that they are GOOD.

Choose any ten records you want and simply write their catalog number on coupon below. Send no money.
and see how fully I protect you in every way.

POPULAR AND STANDARD SONGS

4091 Old Rugged Cross
Beyond the Clouds

-
r

1540 Old Man Sunshine
Sidewalks of New York

See terms on coupon

COMEDY

2432 Sonny Boy 4141 Wish I Was Single Again : 4002 Flanagan's Second Hand
Dancing Neath Dixie If You Want to Find 4057 Jesus Lover of My Soul 1559 I Loved You Then As I Car
Moon Love Safe in Arms of Jesus G Doe Ca c Over Hy and Si and the Line
4228 Hallelujah I'm A Bum 4160 Sweet Hawaiian Kisses "m Fence
The Dying Hobo Blue Hawaiian Moon INSTRUMENTAL oR — re sant
amona y rans Ma ife
2398 Ramona | 4118 May I Sleep In Your 4193 Whistler and His Dog If I Didn't Love You 4230 UncleSiat Village Barber
Valley of Memory Barn Tonight? Powder Puff Uncle Si and Hiram
2407 Girl of My Dreams When T Saw Sweet Nellie 1521 Rag Doll Swapping Horses -
sar Old Pal Home 4189 Drowsy Waters Draggin' the Dragon SWEDENS
Dear Old Pa Herd Girl's Dream Biase 4168 Jail Birds
2437 There's A Rainbow 4117 Where River Shannon = í 3 Wedding Bells
Round My Shoulder Flows 4162 Blue Danube Waltz 1502 Mary Ann 4211 Andy Goes A Hunting
When You're Not Here Rose from Ireland Skaters’ Waltz Blue Hawaiian Moon Andy Gets Learnin’
» Ridge Mountain 4171 Red Wing 4138 By Watersof Minnetonka 1
I oes Pd c Ty Waters of Minnetonka Over the Waves 1488 Among My oon ee HAWAIIAN
Lane of Dreams 4119 Hand Me „Down My 4068 Arkansas Traveler member 4156 4. adios
4174 Casey Jones Walking Cane Turkey In The Straw 1463 M , reamy Moon
a ~ Mi ire. dox My Blue Heaven y c dre
WwW S Around Again Captain Jinks | E 4136 Humoresque Found Best Girl Of All 4023 My Oo Kentucky Home
une 2334 Terrible Mississippi Spring Song © "
4167 The Preacher and the Flood : s * 1497 After My Laughter 4084 Alola Land
x Bear End of Shenandoalí 4061 Listen To Mocking Bird Came Tears Honolulu Bay
The Sting of the Bumble E Song Bird (Both Carry Me Back to Con- 4009 Palakiho Blues
Bee ue Roll" on tte Model) Whistling) nemara One, Two, Three, Four
4178 Break the News to “Wodel) Very. "000.0217" Tela Mi om om
Mother Mrs. McLeod's Ree
Bird In A Gilded Cage 4090 In Baggage Coach Ahead 4016 Trish Jigsand Reels, No. 1. PEAR OUT COUPON AND MAIL
4185 Picture That's Turned Tree DE Irish Jigsand Reels, No.2

To Wall
White Wings
Oh Dem Golden Slippers
Kingdom Coming
Wreck of the Old 97
Wreck of the Titanic
Gypsy's Warning
Don't You Remember
Up

Climbing Golden

1 I Dream of
Lilac Time

Come Back to Romany

Rovin' Gambler

Little Log Cabin in Lane

Jesse James

Butcher Boy

My Ohio Home

Alice of the Pines

Ford Has Made a Lady
Out of Lizzie

Clancy's Wooden Wed-
ding

My Blue Heaven

Back of Every Cloud

Floyd Collin's Fate
Pickwick Club Tragedy
2331 Ain't She Sweet
Bootlegger's Daughter
72 Rudolph Valentino
Little Rosewood Casket
New River Train
Show Me My Mammy
Wreck of Number Nine
Freight Wreckat Altoona
Boston Burglar
Cowboy's Lament

My Old New Hampshire
Home
Ida Sweet As Apple Cider

SACRED SONGS

4075 Church In Wildwood
Voice of Chimes

4046 Nearer My God To Thee
Lord Is My Shepherd

4069 When Roll Is Called Up

Yonder
Throw Out The Life Line

4198

4218 Merry Widow Waltz

Lullaby From Ermine

RACE RECORDS
7021 I Need A Good Man Bad

Can't Be Worried Long
7033 Hit Me in the Nose Blues
It's All Coming Home
To You
BLUES

7023 John Henry Blues
St. Louis Blues

Yellow Dog B!ues
Hard Time Blues

Deep River Blues

Loveless Love Blues

POPULAR DANCES
All with Vocal Chorus

1541 My Angel (Angela Mia),
Waltz
Coming Thru the Rye

7025

7026

! MUTUAL MUSIC CLUB, TR-42, 135 Dorchester Ave.,
I Boston, Mass.
l You may send me on 10 days’ approval 10 records
| listed below by catalog numbers. When the 10 records
arrive, | will pay postman a deposit of only $1.98 (plus postage
| from factory), in full payment. I will then try the records
l 10 days in my own hore, and if I am disappointed in them
or fnd them in any way unsatisfactory, I will return them,
| and you agree to refund at once, all that ] have paid, in-
i cluding my postage expense for returning the records.
11 ~6 ~ Write three substitutes
S a tate > §--------------- Sbelow to be shipped only
Io 7 tif other records are out
I nes RA (du iac i ecd ~ £f stock.
I ——— MÀ eee = Oe callem im Pe e n
9 S
| 4---------------=- = 9- ee
1 = =
Se ee c
| ee
1 IMPORTANT Place cross mark in square at left if
1 you wish three 10-cent packages of
| Cum steel needles included in your order;
I recommendtd for these records.
l Io m re. ee eee
!
r .--- -- - oo. oon enn ene e eere
= (Write Clearly)
oc cde. wm nn ed pee Eo PER State........ —

oo

D .

T NEED An:

ED EDUCATION
AND Yov Don't NEED

"PREvio05 EXPER ENee
Le

bi

FE Se Stee eee SSS UU UR UR nw

Mr. H. C. Lewis, Pres. Dept. 29-65C

COYNE ELECTRICAL SCHOOL

500 So. Paulina St., Chicago, Ill,

Dear Mr. Lewis: Without obligation send me your

big free catalog and all details of Free Employ-

ment Service, Radio, Aeroplane and Automotive

Electrical Courses and how many ''earn while

ing." I understand I will not be bothered by
esman.

- wm NN CM wae LC I i
-
a
8
mmmum m um am E NE NN um um

COUP ————— M State... ........—

True Detective Mysteries

The Hollow Tree
Horror!

(Continued from page 60)

brother of Stanley's who was a minister,
came to his kinsman. I got the
preacher off to one side and told him that
his brothers, Stanley and Cyrus, were not
telling me the truth about Frank Andrews’
disappearance, and suggested to him that
he might, perhaps, say something to his
brothers that would help them see the
light. He did his best, and he was sincere.
He went back to the cells of his brothers
and prayed for them, but his prayers had
no effect.

Before going to the jail the following
morning I had already decided to put the
two brothers through another grilling. I
had no intention of giving up the pressure.
I knew the truth was in their minds, and
I felt certain they were keeping it back.

But the moment I saw Cyrus Hansen
that morning, when he was brought into
the sheriff's office, I knew that a change
had come over him during the night. He
was extremely nervous, his eyes were swol-
len, and he looked more like a cowed dog
than anything else. I had talked with him
only a few minutes when I realized he had
something on his mind that he wanted
to tell me.

"Well, you may as well tell me what i!
is, Cyrus," I said suddenly. "You're hold-
ing something back. What is it?"

He was trembling, his excitement gath-
cring, and then he broke quickly.

Cyrus Hansen's confession is too long
and too much in detail to be set down here.
The following excerpts, however, tell the
tale, which was written on a typewriter in
the presence of the sheriff, myself, and two
rural police officers, and signed by Hansen:

sec

"HE (Stanley) said: ‘You needn't ask me
no more about Frank, fer he's off the
map. ... I askt him what he meant by
that, an' he said: 'I have used (killed)
him. . . . I askt him what he'd used
(killed) him about, an' he told me they
got in a strangle (fight) 'bout some licker,
an' his wife, an' he'd got him. He
said if I ever told this, he'd kill me. . . .
I askt him what he did with Frank's body,
an’ he said: "That's fer me to know, an’
fer you to find out.' "

Immediately after Cyrus' signature was
on this confession, we took him back to
his cell. Then Stanley was brought into
the inner office where we already had his

preacher brother awaiting him. Stanley
was a harder man than either of his
brothers. I saw little change in him. If

he was worrying much, he didn't show it.
There in the office his brother prayed with
him, or rather, for him, but there came
no change in the man's attitude of flint. He
sat there like a stone wall, calm, unabashed,
cold as ice. For over an hour he refused
to be moved by pleas, prayers, the ques-
tions we shot at him, or anything else.
Just what did lead to Stanley Hansen's
change of mind, I cannot say—not accu-
rately and fully, at least. I do not use the
word "break," because he didn't break, as
many a man has under one quarter of the
strain he was put through. He simply
decided to tell the truth, and what miade
him decide, only he, himself, knows. Cer-
(Continued on page 10)

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BE A DETECTIVE

I Make Secret Investigations,

Work home or travel
Excellent opportunity
Fascinating work
Experience unnecessary

i

[|

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V Write, GEORGE D. WAGNER
=2190 Broadway, New York==

EW AUTO LIGHT

STICKS ANYWHERE [P

GRIP-LITE has magnetized base. Sticks tight @
to any metallic surface. Ideal Auto ''Trouble
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light, or] $50 to $100 WEEKLY
| camping | Sells at sight. Every autoist,

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MAGNO
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True Detective Mysteries

we

grade 75c records
cluded in this offer.
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our wonderful offer,

30 Days

Yes, only $1.00 with coupon below brings you this portable phonograph
with a special assortment of 15 latest double-face 75c mew electric process
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We guarantee: that you get everything in this phonograph

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$25? a Month
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plus all transportation charges. If you keep it, pay only $2.50 a month
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$24.95. Think of it, a first class high grade
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of home furnishings sent selections) a complete outfit, ready to play,
Ep ls only $24.95! Seize this opportunity while it
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Dept.

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If within 30 days you de-
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A $11.25 worth of bAghNE
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Send at once, without obligation,
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Name.

AdáreSa — — — — ————

True Detective Mysteries

(Continued from page 8)

tainly what we put him through, must
have contributed toward that end. But,
after all, I believe the fervent prayers of
his brother did the most. I believe his
heart was reached by that, although he
did not show it, and that he then decided
to tell us the truth.

E have his
possession.

Here is a part of it:

",..an when we got there, there
came into this a settlement between he
and me fer the sugar, an' he wanted to
represent that he had forty pounds of
sugar in a sixty-gallon barrel of beer. I
askt him to give me some evidence an'
some proof that he did have the sugar in
there, an' he tole me that he could give
me the evidence, but he never did, an' in
that argument we ran into a fuss. When
we ran into this fuss he grabbed a small
pole. I chuncked at him with the axe.
When I chuncked him with the axe, get-
tin' ten steps from the barrel, he got to
me an we had a man fight.

"After this fuss wuz over I tole Frank
to let's be friends, an’ he said he would.
He had a long knife with him, an’ I
wanted to get a hold of that knife. But
I didn’t know how. Wall, atter a bit
he got to cuttin’ some splinters with
the knife so’s to build a fire fer his
still. I tole him to give me his knife an’
I'd cut the splinters an’ fer him to go on
an’ git his beer ready for the run. He
give me the knife an’ atter he'd got his
back turned I jumped on him again. We
got in another fuss an’ durin’ this fight
I got hold of the knife an’ struck him in
the neck. Then I began to cut him, an’ I
cut him all to pieces an’ from the loss of
blood he weakened, an’ in a few minutes
he breathed a few times an’ then he died.
He never spoke to me atter he started to
dyin’. Atter I killed him I took the axe
an’ the barrel that he had carried in the
swamp an’ took the barrel to the hog lot,
an’ there, in the well that he had dug, I
washed the blood from my face an’ hands
an’ wrenched the collar of my shirt where
some blood had got, but I lef’ his body
right where I got through with hit.

“T did not go back to this place where
I'd killed Frank Andrews fer some time,
as I knowed nobody had found him or I
would have heard hit, as I wuz tellin'
everybody who askt about Frank that he
wuz in West Virginia. An’ later I wuz
in the swamp hog-huntin' an' I thought
that I would go back by there, an' I did. I
saw that the clothes were off him an' the
buzzards eatin’ him. As there wuz nothin
there but the bones I took these clothes
up an’ carried them to the tree stump an’
set a fire. After the clothes burned I
picked up the bones an’ carried them to
the same stump an’ burned them to hide
everything an’ get hit off the map.

“T killed this man Frank Andrews an’ I
am shore sorry fer hit, fer he had lived
with me an’ had been a good boy, but I
did hit, an’ all the other tales that I have
told were false, as I killed him by myself
an’ no one helped me in hit.”

confession in my

ITH this gruesome confession set
down, signed, on two sheets of paper,
we next led Stanley Hansen from the jail

(Continued on page 12)

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True Detective Mysteries 11

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12

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True Detective Mysteries

(Continued from page 10 )
toward the scene of the crime. Without
a word, the man brought us to the hollow
of a large cypress tree, not very far from
his farmhouse. Inside the hollow of the
tree was an improvised furnace.

In all my career of 28 years as a de-
tective I have seen few things, or have
experienced few things, that made a
deeper impression on me than did this
scene of horror, for it can truthfully be
described as nothing less. Hansen was
handcuffed, and was in my custody as
we arrived at the tree which had been the
altar, not of a sacrifice, but for a hidden
pyre in which had been perpetrated an
inhuman act, a black crime so ghastlv as
to smack of the ways of the cannibal and
prehistoric man.

I stood for a moment in silence, view-
ing that dark hole of death, then reached
down and, picking up a small dead
branch and snapping off its dried off-
shoots, I began to scratch in the ashes
where I knew, or at least believed, was
all the earthly indication that remained
of young Frank Andrews, who, as his old
father had told me, had gone off that
fatal morning, apparently happy, “wear-
ing a clean shirt his Ma had washed the
day before."

While I was doing this, Hansen was
standing back of me, his wrist being
handcuffed to mine. Suddenly I felt a
slight jerk and looking up, saw that my
prisoner was grinning at me.

Unbelievable as it may seem, he was
genuinely amused. It somehow appeared
funny to him that I could not locate what
1 was after.

“Thet ain't no way to git what yuh
want!" he said. "Let me show yuh how
to find them bones, if thet's what yer
after !"

I stepped back, the man leaned over
and, with his free hand, began to finger
in the ashes. In a few minutes he had
brought forth fragments of charred hu-
man bones, some human teeth and... .

ERHAPS my story should end here.

Yet there is another matter in con-
nection with this case, which I feel may
interest the reader, so I will tell it.

The Prosecuting Attorney and myself
were sure we had the goods on Stanley
Hansen when we walked into a certain
county court-room one autumn morning.
Did I not have the confession of this un-
couth yet keen-minded farmer? Did I
not have the bones of his victim?

In this particular State a man cannot
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the conviction for this offense is death in
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automatically carries with it a sentence
of life imprisonment.

The attorneys for Stanley Hansen of-
fered to make this plea of guilty, with a
recommendation to mercy, but we were
so sure we had the goods on our prison-
er that we refused to accept the plea. The
Prosecuting Attorney felt that the facts
in the case warranted the extreme pen-
aity.

We went to trial. The jury was drawn.
A witness was introduced. And then,
suddenly, something was brought to our

(Continued on page 14)

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True Detective Mysteries

(Continued from page 12
attention which caused us to think, and
think quickly! There was no doubt that
Frank Andrews had been murdered in
cold blood by Stanley Hansen. The pris-
oner had admitted it to us in the county
jail and at the old cypress stump. He
had offered to admit it before the bar.

Yes! All of this was true, and, more
than that, I had the bones. But—whose
bones? Those of Frank Andrews, oí
course! How did I know they were?
Stanley Hansen had told me so. An ex-
pert had examined them and had de-
clared that they were human bones. But
could. we prove that they were Frank
Andrews' bones?

We could not!

No one had seen Stanley Hansen kill
Frank Andrews. The jury, without testi-
mony from the defendant, could not say
that Stanley Hansen had murdered the
18-year-old farm boy. All these twelve
men would have would be my testimony
and that of Cyrus Hansen—both hear-
says, so far as they were concerned. Sup-
pose, after we had completed our testi-
mony, the attorneys for the defendant
should ask for a directed verdict. His
Honor could do nothing but grant their
request since, under the law, the State
must prove the corpus delicti (the death
of the deceased) by evidence other than
the defendant's own admission—and then
Stanley Hansen would be a íree man!
He was guilty, none of us had any doubt
of that, and yet there are certain techni-
calities in the Law of this country that
get a criminal out of anything!

EFORE us lay a law-book containing

a decision concerning a certain case
that very much resembled our own. In
that case the defendant had gone íree.
We could not see why Stanley Hansen
should go íree on a mere technicality.
And there was a strong possibility that
he would! Perhaps his attorneys did not
know this law even existed. It did not
appear that they did when they bargained
for a plea of "guilty with recommenda-
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did know this law, and wanted to spring
a surprise on us after we had presented
cur side of the case. Lawyers do that
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And so, we thought quickly. We took
time out, so to speak. Finally, the Prose-
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And then he turned dramatically, so that
every word might be heard by all of
those in the crowded court-room, and
agreed to take a plea of “Guilty, with
recommendation to mercy,” from Stan-
ley Hansen.

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Ems February

Gang Murder

By George William Wilder

OT long ago the New York Times published a report of crime conditions in Chicago, and !
one of the things embodied in this report was, that in 1926-27, Chicago had one hundred

.* and thirty gang murders, and not a single man connected with these one hundred and thirty
murders was pu nished.

This is an amazing statement. Probably no other city in world history has equalled this
record. ; i

A prominent man said, in referring to these one hundred and thirty murders: “Let them kill
each other—that will mean just so many less for the police to dispose of.” But a wise public
prosecutor, commenting on this statement, replied: ‘That attitude is all wrong. -No govern-
ment, municipal or otherwise, can hope to exist long that will allow unrestricted civil war within
its own domain. There would be no end to where ‘sanctioned lawlessness’ like that might lead.”

What then is the answer?

. ie . s
Chicago had to find its own answer, for the gangs had dealt out murder more ruthlessly to
Chicago's peaceable citizens than to their own members. Six hundred and thirty “other murders"
had been committed in Chicago during the period named, with only ten hangings as a result.

What a ghastly record!

To get a true idea of how serious the situation was regarded, one has only to consider the
appeal which was issued by The Chicago Association of Commerce for funds with which to fight
the gangs. Fifty-five different groups of business and professional concerns were in the member-
ship of this association, and all. of them responded. One hundred and fifty thousand dollars
was asked for and, in a few days, this amount was over-subsciibed. An able group of attorneys
under the capable leadership of Frank J. Loesch, President of The Chicago Crime Commission,
with the above-named funds at their disposal, supplied by the citizens of Chicago, have at this
writing, already secured 63 indictments before special grand juries—and it is safe to say that
there will be no whitewashing.

But Chicago is not alone in this problem. St. Louis has, in the past, been in the grip of

plundering, pillaging gangs of ruthless criminals ready to murder its citizens in cold blood upon
the slightest resistance.

How do these human jackals **work"? If United States law means nothing to them, is
there any law they do respond to? Is there any code which they, as a class, respect, anything
in life which may be dignified by the name of “principle” which they will follow—or do follow?

There begins, in this issue of TRuE DETECTIVE MYSTERIES, a powerful fact story which an-
swers all these questions, and'many more that one would never think of, who is not acquainted
with the real underworld. "This fact account puts gangdom in its true light, paints it in its grim,
cold-blooded reality, free of the artificial, unreal trimmings of fiction and, as a result, we have a
living picture of predatory criminality, a true portrait of the “human wolves" of the underworld
that will remain long in the readers’ memory.

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INSIDE STORY « GEORGE

This “prince of gamblers,” whose notorious trial for murder filled
the headlines in hundreds of newspapers, risked millions of money,

his chance of happiness, and life itself, for one ambition.
What did it all bring him in the end? Remus

was that ambition?

What

himself here gives the answer!

By MARY CHENOWETH
of the Louisville COURIER- JOURNAL

NE Idea, backed Sinh s 1
by one ambi- EEY A ot RUPEM
tion, moved tS tc. ES ar mi ce ee

George
Remus, the multi-
millionaire ‘‘Boot-
leg King," in his
gigantic whisky
conspiracy. And
that was to obtain
possession of all
the whisky in
America; to be-
come, in fact, the
"Whisky King,”
to put an end to
all bootlegging
and to sell his
wares here and
abroad,—but, at
his own price. Al-
though he placed
nearly four mil-
lion gallons of
straight red
whisky on the
American ‘‘boot-
leg" market, he
never drank a
drop of whisky in
his life.

Working to all outward appearances in conformity with the
law, he received from the gullible public more than $60,-
000,000.00 for which he paid an overhead expense of $10,-
000,000.00 in official protection. His organization was large,
and each drew a share, but Remus made a personal profit of
* $6,700,000.00 in nineteen months!

In an interview with the writer shortly after his release
from the Atlanta Penitentiary, where he paid the penalty
for his wrong-doing, he revealed the methods employed to
reach his goal, the bribery of certain officials, and his in-
ability to reach others, and the series of misfortunes which
resulted in his downfall.

It will be interesting first to tell briefly of Remus, the
plotting wizard, who came dangerously near putting across his
dream. Remus, having been a Chicago lawyer when he
decided to become the 'Whisky King," uses legal phrases
frequently. He is always polite and, in talking, refers to
himself as Remus, never “I,” "Me" or "My."

Remus had a genius for organization and the writer be-
lieves that if he had directed his talents in proper channels,

18

View of the conservatory of the Remus estate, Cincinnati

he would probably have
rivaled some of the
colossuses of Wall
Street, with whom
it was his ambi-
tion to do real
business. He had
a powerful per-
sonality and knew
the weakness of
human nature.
"I did not
always intend to
be just an or-
dinary boot-
legger," he said.
"It was my in-
tention to do busi-
ness with Wall
Street. I realized
the frailty of
human nature but
I did not count
on the fact that,
in a clash between
the principles of
right and wrong,
justice would win.
Yuu may say for
Remus that there
is no wall of pro-
tection so strong that it cannot tumble—just at a time when
you think you are most secure! During my career of ‘buy-
ing’ men, I came in contact with two I could not handle.
One was Bert C. Morgan, former Prohibition Director of
Indiana, who sent me to the penitentiary. To him I offered a
bribe of half a million dollars and he refused. I called him
‘The stumbling block of the Middle West.’ The other
was Sam Collins, former Prohibition Director for Kentucky,
who refused an offer of a hundred thousand dollars simply
to quit his job!"

UST how close Remus came to putting across his dream of

cornering the whisky market is shown by the fact that his
arrest, in May, 1922, blocked the completion of a deal for the
purchase of twenty-three distilleries at a price fixed at
$5,500,000.00. The arrangements were to be $2,000,000.00
down, and the remainder at $500,000.00 a year. The name
of Remus would never have been known in the deal, he told
me.

“But,” he stated, “my money would have been back of it

REMUS-“ Bootleg King”

and Remus would
have directed the
policy of the or-
ganization.”

If the deal had
been completed it
would have placed
the Bootleg King
in control of one-
third of the bot-
tled - in - bond
whisky in the en-
tire country, and
he planned to get
control of the re-
mainingtwo-thirds
in the following
three years.
Despite the block-
ing of the big deal,
heactually
bought, in his
lightning career,
which lasted only
nineteen months,
nine distilleries
under fictitious
names, for which
he paid a total of
twenty-three mil-
lion dollars.

AS a reporter for
the Courier-

Journal and the
Louisville Times,
I was assigned in
the spring of 1921
to cover the Cin-
cinnati Whisky
Ring which had
spread itstentacles
over the entire
Middle West with
amazing rapidity.
The organization
seemed to have a
directing head, so
baffling in his
powers to cover
up, that we re-
ferred to him as
“Raffles.”

I had the good
fortune to get to-
gether in printable
form on June 28th, 1921, six months before his arrest, the
first article to appear in any publication connecting the name
of George Remus with the American bootleg game. In
writing this article, I learned, later, that I had jumped into
the midst of what he called his ‘‘Circle.”’

It was an exposé of his bogus Kentucky Drug Company,
through which he withdrew illegally more than 100,000 cases
of whisky, and which held a basic permit to withdraw from
any one of his nine distilleries.

Although Remus operated for a time on the ordinary
bootlegger-to-bootlegger plan, his profits were so large and
cash came so readily, that, within a few months, he took the
first step up the ladder which he hoped would lead to the

Remus, multi-millionaire “bootleg king.”

gold, but said of his own private life: “J have felt every heartache in the annals
of human suffering." This photograph was posed exclusively for the author

realization of his

dream.
He bought the
Edgewood Dis-

tillery, in Cincin-
nati, and, for the
first time, put in-
to effect the plans
he was to use in
all future deals.
They were,
briefly: — First—
to buy the dis-
tillery and there-
by obtain pos-
session of the
premises and the
books of the com-
pany, and learn
who owned the
whisky certificates
in. order that he
could buy them
up on the market
as quickly as pos-
sible. ^ Second—
organize the Ken-
tucky Drug Com-
pany, and, in this
way, get a basic
permit with which
he could withdraw
from his distiller-

ies. Third—or-
ganize The Ameri-
can Transporta-

tion Company to
provide for the
transportation of
his goods. Fourth
—to open Death
Valley Farm, the
largest bootleg
concentration
camp in America,
throughwhichmil-
lions of gallons of
straight red
whisky were di-
verted and sold to
the bootleg trade.

o2 m mee gs

He made liquor turn into a stream cf "YT was very

simple," de-
clared the Bootleg
King. ‘I owned
the outfit all the way down the line, and so, who was to com-
plain of the missing liquor? Of course, there had to be
signatures for the Government, both at the distillery and the
drug company, but my men were perfectly capable of handling
that end, so we were able to cover up nicely.”

“The Circle” did operate with amazing success until
Remus reached the peak of his career at Death Valley late
in September, 1921, when a single day's cash income was
$79,000.00!

The Bootleg King made friends easily and within a short
time gained the confidence of banks and surety companies.
Records were produced at his trial to prove that he de-
posited in one bank in Cincinnati, to one account (and he

19

20 True Detective Mysteries

had many, under various
names), a total of $2,800,-
000.00 in ten months.

“T was much more afraid
of hi-jackers than Federal
agents because I believed
that my protection sources
were infallible,” he told
me. “I always knew when
a strange agent came to
town, and he was imme-
diately trailed by one of
my own under-cover men.”

The Remus organization
consisted of wholesale
liquor dealers, traffic men, experienced guards, drivers, men
in all conceivable forms of occupations who were needed
to carry out his orders.

Each concern had its own officers and kept its own set of
books, but Remus established headquarters in a handsome
building which he bought, and named for himself. The offices
were complete with directors’ rooms, storage rooms, and
various other equipment.

"I believed that I had bought protection all the way up
from the suburban cop to the highest officials. I had as-
surance that I would never see a day in prison.”

REMUS was a Chicago lawyer practising largely in divorce

cases when Prohibition became effective. Although
he was not what might be termed a great legal success, he
was by no means a poor man. It was only a few months
after the Volstead Act became a national law that Remus
was called upon to represent several bootleggers and, in so
doing, became impressed with what he referred to as the
“tissue paper law,”

“The more I studied it, the more I was convinced of its
frailties and so I decided to get in on the ground floor—strike
while the iron was hot and before Congress had an oppor-
tunity to amend its weaknese !”

Remus sold his interest in the law firm of which he was a
member, for $50,000.00 and proceeded to New York where
he made direct connection with Jess Smith—America's
most noted fixer, with whom he believed he had arranged
for iron-clad protection. “It was a matter of common
gossip that official favors were extended through this source,”
he told the writer.

After he had concluded the preliminary arrangements he
left New York with $40,000.00 worth of fake whisky permits

(Left) View of the marble swimming pool built in the
Remus home at a cost of nearly a quarter million dollars.
This pool was known as “The Roman Bath” and during
the successful days of the Whisky King it was hung
with Southern palms and soft-shaded lights of different
colors. It is said that at the ceremony of opening the
pool, Mr. and Mrs. Remus jumped into the water in
evening clothes. (Insert) Another view of the Remus
home, now under Government seizure. (Below) In-
terior of the Remus home, posed exclusively for the
author. Left to right, Gabe Ryerson, brother-in-law of
the bootleg king, Mrs. Ryerson, a sister of Rernus, end
seated, Mrs. Mary Remus, mother of Remus. The
marble statue at the left is one of the few valuables
which Remus seized from the hands of the packers as he
entered the home, to find his wife gone

and made his way
to Cincinnati, the
spot designated as
headquarters be-
cause it was the
hub of the three

ja states, Ohio, In-
|— diana and Ken-
+} — tucky, where two-
Ge thirds of all the
| mm A s
| a red whisky in the
/ m nation was stored.
= Shortly after
* - he reached Cin-
—13 cinnati, he made
owe the acquaintance
of "Jew" John
Marcus, notorious
member of the
underworld, who

was destined to
play an important
part in the career
of the multi-millionaire bootlegger, and who also paid the
penalty with a prison sentence. Remus bought “Jew” John
a truck and began withdrawing at random from distilleries
with the fake permits, selling on the bootlegger-to-bootlegger,
soft-drink-stand-to-soft-drink-stand plan. The business
prospered far beyond the fondest hopes of the "Whisky
King" dreamer and the close of 1920 found him with more
than a million dollars in cash. His rapid success only served
to stimulate a desire to become the Whisky King in fact.

Up to this point, he had not put into effect "The Circle,"
which he later called his organization, but he was making
progress. He had acquired a third interest in his first
distillery.

In the meantime Remus married, at Newport, Kentucky,
in June, 1920, Mrs. ^ugusta Imogene Holmes, of Milwaukee
and Chicago, whom he later killed. She had one daughter,
Ruth, by a previous marriage, whom Remus adopted.

His new wife was ambitious and the Whisky King began
to look around for a permanent home. He bought the
Lackland estate on Price Hill, a fashionable suburb of
Cincinnati, for which he paid $90,000.00 and spent more than
$700,000.00 in improvements. He installed a new swimming
poolata cost of a quarter of a million dollars, which was known
as the Roman Bath. The pool was heated, and equipped
with soft-shaded lights and built of the most expensive
marble. Ruth, his wife's daughter, attended a fashionable
school of music in Cincinnati, having her own baby grand
piano sent to the academy for her personal use. She drove
her own car and dressed like a New York model. The new-
comers' unlimited source of funds was now the talk of that
section of the country, so lavishly did they spend money.
Remus was happy.

Through the purchase of the estate on Price Hill, Remus

ue

Inside Story of George Remus— Bootleg King" 21

made the acquaintance of a youth named George Connors,
a real estate agent, who has since proved his most loyal
friend, for it was none other than Connors, as the defense
star witness, who saved the day for his chief when he was on
trial for the murder of his wife.

Connors became an important link in the organization and,
later, went to the Atlanta Penitentiary with his chief, when
Remus, brokcn in power, spent some time behind the prison
bars. It was through Connors that Remus located Death
Valley, (so named because it was a death trap for Federal
Agents) a farm consisting of one hundred acres, on the Lick
Run Road about ten miles from Cincinnati, known as “The
Hole in the Ground."

Gradually the Bootleg King built up an organization,
choosing men of widely different attributes. In fact, he
needed diplomats capable of persuading enforcement officers
that "others are getting theirs—why not you?" He needed
men capable of running whisky despite the chance of capture.
And, more effective still, he needed men capable of using
strong-arm methods of protection against hi-jackers.

It would be almost impossible to name the many enter-
prises operated by the Whisky King, as each concern was a

separate corporation, but, naturally, each set of officers was
subject t^ the commands of his chief, although Remus boasts
that his own name never appeared on the books of any of his
companies. It was for this reason that he was difficult to
catch. Although everything that he did was illegal, he
followed Government regulations to the letter.

An almost perfect organization was now operating for the
Bootleg King, but he needed a centralization point for his
ever-growing supply of illicit liquor. He knew also that he
must choose wisely, not only the place, but the men who were
to take charge of it.

Death Valley—known as “The Hole in the Ground’’—the largest liquor concentration camp
in the United States, from which more than forty million dollars worth of illicit whisky was
sold to the thirsty American public. Rernus operated several liquor concentration camps, but
Death Valley was his.pride. Federal agents who made the raid on this camp, in which often
more than fifteen thousand cases of whisky were stored at one time, called the camp “an
arsenal worthy of an army fort." The author made personal trips to this scene. (Right)
Photograph taken of Remus while he was testifying before the U. S. Senate

Remus had organized a bogus wholesale drug company to
which he gave the name of The Kentucky Drug Company.
It was located in Covington, Kentucky, a five-mile ride across
the Ohio River Bridge. He obtained a permit to withdraw
as much whisky as he wished from his distilleries. He had
also organized a bogus truck company which he styled The
American Transportation Company, with a license from the
Government as required by the regulations. The Millionaire
Bootlegger was now worthy of the name. He had bought
his first distillery—The Edgewood—near Cincinnati for
$225,000.00 and was ready to put into effect “The Circle.”

T was simple enough," Remus told the writer. “A Remus

drug company withdraws from a Remus distillery,
Remus trucks call for the liquor and transport it to a Remus
liquor concentration camp.”

Evidence of how well '"The Circle" did operate is shown
in the records which were produced at his trial to prove that
16,900 gallons of whisky were withdrawn from the Edgewood
Distillery in four days and consigned to the Kentucky Drug
Company leaving the plant high—and very dry! The
distillery was abandoned by the organization, Remus ex-

plained, adding that his men did not even bother to cal
for the office furniture, and whatever became of it they did
not know.

Of course, the whisky never really reached the Kentucky
Drug Company, but found its way to Death Valley, where
millions of dollars' worth of illegal whisky was sold to the
thirsty public. In order to properly describe the concentra-
tion camp, the writer traveled over the road used by Remus
and his strong-arm men leading to Death Valley. This road
is extremely lonely. a distinct advantage, because officers
could easily have been overpowered should one of them

22

attempt to travel it who was not on the Remus pay-roll.
The camp was located about ten miles from Cincinnati.
Near the end of the route, the road turns off for about five
hundred yards and then descends a steep grade. Hundreds
of pear trees give it the appearance of a dense forest. At
the bottom of the grade there come into view the farmhouse
and out-houses completely hidden from the road above.

"In reality," according to the Federal officers, "Death
Valley was an arsenal worthy of any army camp." Every
conceivable means of protection was furnished the strong-arm
guards acting for Remus.

There were repeating rifles shooting from ten to fifteen
times without reloading, which were kept constantly at
vantage points. Armed guards were on duty day and
night. The guards, always keeping under cover, could see
anyone descending the single road leading to the camp
while they themselves could not be seen. It was like a
single mountain pass where onc man could stand off an army.
It was easily apparent that raiders would have extreme dif-
ficulty in taking Death Valley.

The farm contained a two-story frame dwelling, a barn
and some out-houses. At the rear was a deep hollow con-
cealed by trees. Here, in this natural cache, it was possible
to hide from 5,000 to 20,000 cases of whisky at a single shot.
In addition to this, large quantities could be taken care of in
the barn and out-houses ready for immediate sale to customers.
Until Remus conceived the
idea of becoming ‘America’s
Whisky King," the farm was
law-abiding. An old farmer
lived there with his wife and
children, but he accepted an
offer from Remus of $100.00 a
week for the use of the farm.
Poor old man, he and his
family certainly came to grief,
for he, too, was placed behind
the bars.

EATH VALLEY was a

big success for a while
and Remus, discussing his
customers, said, “They came
from all over the country and
included the fashionable club-
man, the hotel-keeper, the
whisky jobber and the petty
bootlegger. They were as
anxious to buy as I was to sell
and there was never a day
that the demand was not
seventy per cent greater than
the supply. I sold only the
best, and Remus whisky was
never cut."

Spot cash was required in
every transaction and the
deals ranged from $100.00 to
$20,000.00 at a time. Death
Valley reached its peak late
in September, 1921, when, as
previously stated, a single day brought $79,000.00 in cash.

A vivid story of the operations of the camp was told at the
trial by an old woman, wife of one of the Remus guards,
known as “Old Mother Hubbard."

"When cars would come to Death Valley," she said, "they
would have a guard in front and one in the back, and several
men acting as chauffeurs. There men were always heavily
armed. There were trucks, touring cars and roadsters that
came to the house and down into the hollow. They came
from everywhere—Cleveland, Chicago, Milwauk«e, Pitts-
burgh, Omaha, California, New York and Kentucky. The
men always knew when a raid was coming and kept every-
thing ready to move on short notice. The whisky would be

True Detective Mysteries

moved to a house on top of the hill until the danger of the
raid had passed and then it would be moved back to the
farm," the old lady declared.

Remus was going strong now and rapidly nearing the
realization of his dream. The next few months was to find
him at the peak of his career. He now owned the Fleishman
Distillery, Cincinnati; the Edgewood, Cincinnati; a control-
ling interest in Hill & Hill at Owensboro, Kentucky, and a
similar interest in Pogue, at Maysville, Kentucky.

S° rapidly did his plans materialize and so quickly did he

fatten his bank-roll that he began to feel as safe as the
most law-abiding citizen. He was beginning to think that
he belonged to the world of finance. He looked on the
bootlegging game as too small for him, or rather, that he had
grown too big for it, and he longed to do business with Wall
Street and to corner the whisky market. Remus was doing
as much work, if not more than any member of his organiza-
tion. He was making frequent trips to Washington and
New York and establishing new companies at various points.
He continued with marked success until June 18th, 1921,
when he made a costly mistake. He bought the Squibbs
Distillery at Lawrenceburg, Indiana, and stepped into the
territory of Bert C. Morgan, "The Bloodhound of the Pro-
hibition Force," Naturally, it was some time before he
realized his mistake and so he continued on the upward path

(International Newsreel Photo.)

Scene in a saloon, before Prohibition, in the so-called “good old days," when a

glass of “‘good’’ beer sold for a nickel

until October 23rd of the same year. He was soon, however,
to start down the ladder and, once started, he discovered that
there was no turning back.

WHEN George Remus, “Millionaire Bootlegger," called
Bert C. Morgan, former Prohibition Director of Indiana,
“the stumbling block of the Middle West,” he spoke from
experience. It was easy to get Remus to discuss Bert
Morgan, but it was difficult to get the “Iron Man” to discuss
his part in the downfall of the American Whisky King.
The biggest blunder in the career of the Bootleg King was
the purchase of the Squibbs Distillery, which brought him
for the first time into conflict with Morgan, who turned a

Inside Story of George Remus— Bootleg King" 23

deaf ear to an offer of $500,000.00 to "get in" on the or-
ganization.

In a short time after Remus bought the plant, Squibbs
whisky began to appear on the bootleg market, and the
Indiana Prohibition chief called a conference of his men.
He instructed them to guard all roads carefully leading into
the territory and check the withdrawals from all distilleries
in the State.

It was a dreary Sunday afternoon, late in the winter of
1926, that the writer was most graciously received at the
home of Mr. and Mrs. Bert C. Morgan in Indianapolis. The
former Prohibition chief was anxious that his men be given
full credit for the splendid work they had done, but was re-
luctant to discuss his own part in the downfall of Death
Valley, which finally sent the Whisky King and his band of

lined on a map, the location of
the farm where he bought the
goods. He told us that he
bought at Johnnie’s Place, near
Cheviot, Ohio. (This little town,
about ten miles from Cincinnati,
is the post-office for the farm
where Death Valley was located.)
The runner made a pencil map
for us and we made a secret
investigation, obtaining enough
evidence for a search warrant.
“But here we were, confronted
with serious difficulties. It was
absolutely necessary for us to
get in touch with a certain
official there before we could
make the raid, as the farm was
not in our territory. We also
felt certain that the whisky ring
had protection along that line.
“After much thinking we hit
on a plan which worked with
amazing success. We decided
to cover this official every minule
of the time we were in the
territory. We telephoned him
Saturday afternoon that we
would be over the neat day
(Sunday), and asked him to meet
us at the Gibson Hotel in
Cincinnati. We did not tell
him, however, what we wanted
or that we were bringing four
of our own men with us.
“AS soon as we arrived and
told him that we were in
the territory to get a search
warrant, he became restless and
wanted to leave the room but

ERRERA PT STO

(Above) Mrs. Mabel Walker Wille-
brandt, Assistant United States At-
torney General, who represented the
Government in its prosecution of Remus
following his indictment which listed
three thousand offenses against the
Government—held to be the most
sweeping charge in the history of
American jurisprudence. (Center) Sam
Collins, the youthful Prohibition Director
for the State of Kentucky, who, when
offered $100,000.00 in cash if he would

we were prepared for this move
and never left him alone for a
minute. He simply had no
opportunity to get toa telephone,
for one of our men remáined
with him every second. Poor
fellow, he was certainly the most
miserable man I have ever
seen!

"Well," continued Mr. Mor-
gan, "it was about three o'clock

simply quit his job, replied: “I’m
not for sale!" (Left) Bert C. Mor-
gan, former Prohibition Director of
Indiana, called variously “The Iron
Man," and by Remus, “The
Stumbling Block of the Middle
West." He declined (without
thanks) an offer of $500,000.00 to
“get in” on the Remus organization

in the afternoon when we ar-
rived at the concentration camp.
The men in charge in the hollow
were all seated at tables playing
cards and scemed contented and
happy. They were taken com-
pletely off their guard by the

outlaws to prison—a genuine surprise to them.

"We watched the roads all summer," Mr. Morgan began,
“until the agents noticed that whisky seized from rum-
runners, was usually wrapped in Cincinnati newspapers.
This of course, gave us a slight clue that the supply was
coming from the Cincinnati whisky ring, whose head was a
mystery, and we determined to make the catch if possible.
Our efforts were finally rewarded when, late in October,
1921, one of our agents arrested a runner with a case of
Squibbs whisky in his car.

"We questioned him until he made a confession and out-

appearance of their protection
source, who was with us (nol of
his own choosing, however). It
was his presence that gave our men the drop down the -
mountain pass without being challenged.

“ ‘Hello,’ one of the guards in the hollow called to him, as
we emerged from the dangerous grade. An instant later,
however, they all realized their mistake and made for their
guns, but it was too late. We had the drop, and covered them.

“We seized their rifles, unloaded them and stacked them
along the walls. Then we led all the men into one room,
where we kept them under guard, while we made the raid of
the premises.

"I sold a lot of whisky that day," the former Indiana
Prohibition chief said. with a laugh. "'Orders were coming

24

in thick and fast and I answered all telephone calls. You see,
we were keeping things quiet so that Remus could not send
reinforcements to his men.”

During the raid, a call came from a branch depot operated
by the organization on the outskirts of Cincinnati. ‘‘Say,
boys," Mr. Morgan quoted them as saying, “have you seen
any Federal men around there? We've got a tip-off that a
raid is on."

“Oh, we are all cleaned up over here,”
“We are just having a little party."

"We should worry," came back the answer. ‘You've
got nothing on us! We are cleaned up over here, too, and
are having a little party ourselves!”

"It took about four hours to complete the search of the
place, but it was more than successful," Mr. Morgan ex-
plained. “At the close of the raid I said to one of the men
in the organization known as Johnnie Boy, 'Your tip-off
' man did not double-cross you, Johnnie—he could not help
himself.'

"'I know it,’ he answered. ‘He called us up last night
and said that you were coming over, but we thought you
were coming over to investigate a drug store with which we
had no connection.'" (The agent whom Morgan had
forced to accompany him was indicted, but the indictment
was dismissed and he was used as a State witness.)

Morgan answered.

"T WAS never so mad in all my life," Remus told the writer,

'as I was when I heard Morgan's men had made that

raid and been successful. We had the tip and I had in-

structed the men to take no chances. I told them to clean

»ut, but they disobeyed my orders. The men sent word

back that they had cleaned out, so I rested easy, but we all
paid dearly for that mistake.”

Asked why he thought they disobeyed his instructions, the
Whisky King answered: ‘‘They had become reckless in their
desire to make money and thought they were immune.”

Although Remus' men told him that they had cleaned out,
and the Whisky King explained to the writer that "Morgan
found very little," this is what the raiders reported seized
when the search warrant was returned:

Twelve barrels of whisky—two-thirds full.

Four barrels—half-full.

Twenty-four sacks containing 12 bottles of gin, each.

Six bottlesof Burnett's Gin. (Found under a guard's bed).

Six bottles of
White Horse Wine.

Sixteen bottles
of Concord Wine.

INE bottles of
Johnnie
Walker whisky.
^ Twelve bottles
of Scotch whisky.

One three-gal-
lon jug of whisky.

Four one-gallon
jugs of wine.

One double-
barrel shot-gun.

Two repeating
rifles.

Two repeating
shot-guns.

Five pistols.

"It was just a
few odds and
ends,"’said Remus.
“The camp often
had as much as
fifteen thousand
cases of whisky
there at a time.
But it was suf-

Going after the suspect at full speed. U.
the trail of rum runners in New York Harbor.
equipped with powerful machine guns

True Detective Mysteries

ficient evidence for Morgan and his men to send the Bootleg
King and his entire band to prison!"

Remus and his men were held under bonds of $50,000.00
each to appear for trial. Death Valley was ended and the
Whisky King was discouraged for a while, but into his
ears, he said, came the soothing words of Jess Smith, that
he would never see a day in prison and his spirits quickly
ralied. He decided to attempt to reach Bert Morgan.
Remus realized that it would be a difficult proposition but
the Whisky King believed that all men had their price and
he would fix it high in this case to “make sure." He was
soon to learn his mistake.

"E was several weeks after the raid at Death Valley,"

Mr. Morgan said to me, in discussing the attempted
bribe, "that a young man came to see me and informed me
that I was too tight with the enforcement of prohibition.
Some time after that Johnnie Boy and another member of
the Remus organization asked me to meet them at a hotel in
Indianapolis. Always on the lookout for information
available in the case we were preparing, I decided to go,” he
said. “The two men said they wished to discuss a very
delicate matter.

** ‘Now listen!’ " Morgan quoted them as saying. ‘‘ 'Every-
one else is getting theirs—you might as well get yours.’ ”

His duties, they pointed out to Mr. Morgan, would be to
approve permits from various States for the withdrawal of
whisky from the Indiana distilleries.

“After figuring for a while on paper, they told me my share
would be about $500,000.00 and perhaps more," Mr. Morgan
said, with an amused smile. :

“ ‘Money is the least of our worries—we can get all we
want,'" Morgan quoted the men as saying.

The men informed Mr. Morgan, he said, that they had
checked up on him and found that he could not be reached,
but that they had instructions from their chief (Remus) to
get his definite answer.

“They referred to the raid at Death Valley as ‘water over
the dam,'" said Morgan. '''"What we are after is new busi-
ness.’ ”

Mr. Morgan said that the two men carried a book with the
names of officials they claimed were playing with their
organization, and went into the most elaborate details about
the huge amount of money there was in the liquor business.

“T told them,"
the Iron Man
said, "that there
was not enough
money in the
world to buy me,
and to give that
answer to their
chief as final. I
also told them to
tell him that I
would repeat the
story of the at-
tempted bribe to
a grand jury and
I kept my word.”

Remus gave
practically the
same version of
the raid and the
attempted bribe,
except that he
added, “If all men
were like Bert C.
Morgan and Sam
Collins, Prohibi-
tion enforcement
would soon ap-

(Continued on

page 97)

S. Government patrol boats, on
These speed boats are

A beautiful young girl,
of prominent family,
viciously murdered—
the horrible crime
cunningly covered!
But—the man-hunters
found a clue, clasped
in the dead girl’s own
hand!

By
JOSEPH W. GAVAN

formerly of the
New York TIMES

Lysander W. Rose, keeper of the old reservoir on the
outskirts of Richmond, Virginia, was making his
rounds when his glance fell upon an object floating on

the water. Closer scrutiny revealed it to be the body of a
young woman. Rose lost no time in communicating with the
police, who had the corpse brought to the embankment of the
reservoir and placed on a bench to await the arrival of the
coroner.

"Another suicide,” snapped the coroner, after he took a good
look at the corpse. ‘‘Send it to the morgue at the City Alms-
house."

When it was taken to the Almshouse, the body was dumped
into a crude pine box, such as is used for the burial of paupers.
The lid of the box was screwed down and preparations were
made for a simple and hasty burial in Potter's Field.

Little did anyone there realize that the corpse was that of a
beautiful and prominent young woman whose real identity, had
it been. known, would have caused a national sensation!

For the information of newspaper reporters, the usual notice
about the victim of self-destruction was posted up on the
bulletin board in the coroner's office. The police didn't make
a detailed investigation into the death, accepting as correct
the coroner's deduction of suicide.

When Peter J. Burton, a reporter on the staff of the
Richmond Dispatch, saw the notice on the coroner's bulletin
board, he went to the morgue and insisted upon seeing the
body. The lid of the makeshift coffin was raised and Burton
flew into a rage when he noticed that the young woman's

She sat and
stared at the
returned note,
tears running
down her
cheeks

~q

The RED CLAY Clue

QO: a bleak March morning, quite a number of years ago,

face had not been washed, and that the clothes which she
wore when found, had not been replaced by clean, dry ones for
burial.

“What's the big idea?" demanded Burton of the morgue
attendant. ‘You don't mean to tell me that you're going to
lay a woman to rest in this condition! Get busy, now, and
clean up the body and put on fresh clothes. I'm footing the
bill."

The kind-hearted southern newspaperman remained to see
that his demands were carried out. When the face of the
dead girl had been washed, the reporter noticed something
that made his head swim. There were ugly bruises on the
girl's left temple and on the left part of her upper lip!

“T)ID you notice these?" asked Burton of the attendant,
indicating the bruises.

"No, we didn't," was the answer.

"Looks like something more than suicide," declared Bur-
ton. "Better not bury that body until this case has been
more thoroughly investigated.”

The reporter at once got in touch with the police, informed
them of his discovery, and the order for burial was rescinded,
pending a probe. i

The clothes which the girl wore were simple, but expensive,
and in excellent taste. However, she wore no coat or shawl,
and had no money or jewelry on her person, which imme-
diately led the authorities to the theory that she had been
robbed, beaten, and then thrown into the icy waters of the
reservoir. The girl was barely five feet tall, and weighed less

25

26 True Detective Mysteries

than one hundred and twenty pounds. She had been in her
early twenties, and bore all indications of having been an
individual of culture and refinement. The body had been in

_ the water for about twelve hours when Keeper Rose saw it.
An autopsy was fixed for the following Monday, it then
being Saturday.

The police set about the task of identifying the body—the
first and most important step in the solution of the crime—
but late on Saturday night they had reached nowhere along
these lines. Furthermore, nobody answering the dead girl’s
description had been reported missing.

Burton’s story in the Dispatch, which dwelled at length on
the circumstances surrounding the death, created a sensation
in Richmond and the next day, Sunday, hundreds of people
made the trip to the morgue, partly through curiosity, and
partly with a desire to effect identification.

MONG the visitors in the long, grim line was a corre-
spondént of a New York newspaper—a young chap named
Anthony J. Gavigan. He took a good look at the corpse, de-
cided that the girl had been murdered, and then hurried to the
reservoir and began a thorough search for a clue which would
shed some light on the mysterious death. When he had care-

suicide whom they would probably not know, as most of the
bodies taken there were unidentified or unclaimed. But the
bruises on the body had frustrated the plans of the killer,
who ran true to type by leaving that “tell-tale” which a smart
detective always looks for!

All day Sunday, hundreds of the curious people who made
the trip to the morgue stepped into the réles of amateur de-
tectives and searched the reservoir grounds for clues, picking
up and carefully examining every scrap of paper or rubbish
that they came across. But these self-appointed sleuths
found nothing of value, which wasn’t to be greatly wondered
at.

But the police, during their probe Sunday, discovered
that two. palings had been removed from the southerly side
of the picket fence which enclosed the reservoir grounds.
There were some weeds and tall trees just inside of the por-
tion of the fence in question, and it was apparent that a
struggle had also taken place there, as some of the weeds had
been trampled down and some small shrubs were bent and
broken. This discovery was the last straw in the breaking-
down of the suicide theory.

Quizzed by the police, Keeper Rose said that when he
made his rounds late Friday, the fence had been intact, so

“This poor girl has been betrayed, disgraced and cold-bloodedly
murdered!’ said the coroner’s physician.

“Captain Charles H. Epps, ‘detective extraordinary,’ of the
Richmond Police, stepped in and quickly took command of the

situation.

"Every minute counted... "

fully gone over the grounds for more than an hour, Gavigan
came across the foot-prints of a man and a woman. The
prints were fresh, and at a spot on the reservoir embankment
not far from where the body was first seen. They bore evi-
dences of a struggle, and the feminine prints convinced the
observant young newspaperman that their owner had been
pushed into the water.

Gavigan communicated with the police, told them what he
had. discovered, and suggested that a check-up be made to
ascertain if the foot-prints were really those of the dead girl.
Examination of the shoes on the corpse proved conclusively
that they had made the imprints in the soft clay at the water's
edge.

: When police experts looked over the foot-prints, they noticed
that the girl had stood with her back to the water, apparently
struggling with the man, whose foot-prints indicated that he
had been facing the water! By this time, there was little doubt
in the minds of the authorities that murder had been com-
mitted.

The reservoir grounds, comprising some six acres, were what
might be termed an "excellent spot" for a crime. Lonely,
unfrequented, and several miles from the heart of Richmond,
the reservoir had apparently been selected by the slayer
after much deliberation, and after a careful study of the
surrounding neighborhood. The man's plans to have the
drowning catalogued as a suicide were very close to perfect.
Everything would indicate, he evidently thought, that the
girl had jumped into the water during a fit of despondency.
'The slayer, in further perfecting plans to avoid detection,
had also apparently considered the fact that few people in
Richmond would bother to make the long trip to the Alms-
house morgue, which was near the reservoir, to gaze upon a

Wikis E HH HH HH EH LEE ELLE LE E LEE ELLE HERE LEE ELLE ELLE EE LEE LEE HEEL LE EE EE ELLE MEL T

this looked like pretty positive proof that the girl had been
dragged through the broken part of the fence, then through
the weeds, and finally to the water's edge.

But—who was the girl?

With that question still unanswered, the hands of the
police were tied insofar as tracing the slayer was concerned.

It remained, however, for the autopsy to provide the real
sensation. First, the coroner's physician arrived at the con-
clusion that the girl had died from drowning. The blows on
the temple and face, undoubtedly delivered by a man in the
heat of anger, had been sufficient to knock the victim uncon-
scious, but not sufficient to cause death, the doctor believed.
This theory was substantiated by the red clay which the girl
held in her clenched hands, indicating that on reaching the
bottom of the reservoir she had momentarily regained con-
sciousness, and frantically grasped at the clay base of the
pool. Then, to top things off, the coroner's physician an-
nounced that, had the girl lived for two more months, she
would have given birth to a child!

purs poor girl has been betrayed, disgraced and cold-
bloodedly murdered!" said the coroner's physician to a
friend after the autopsy.

This disclosure shot holes in the robbery theory. So it
was that at this stage of the game, Captain Charles H.
Epps, ‘detective extraordinary" of the Richmond Police,
stepped in and quickly took command of thesituation. Every
minute counted and, if identification was delayed too long,
Captain Epps knew that the murderer would have a fine
chance of covering up all his tracks and remaining forever
beyond the police toils.

On Monday, 48 hours after the finding of the body, an extra

The Red Clay Clue 27

large crowd visited the morgue. Suddenly, a Richmond girl,
Effie Dillard, screamed:

"Oh! It's Fannie—Fannie May!”

Regaining her composure, Miss Dillard told the police that
Miss May was a Richmond girl whom she had known for
many years, but whom she had not seen of late. There was
not a shadow of doubt in Effie Dillard's mind that the corpse
was that of Fannie May, especially after she had examined
the hands of the dead girl.

But to make assurance doubly sure, the police com-
municated with several people that had known Miss May,
who was no longer a resident of Richmond. These friends
included Emma Allen, Ida Lee and Thomas Perry. Each of
them needed but one glance at the corpse to convince them
that the slain girl was Fannie May.

The four friends of Fannie May were then taken to
Headquarters and questioned by Captain Epps. They didn't
know much about the girl's private life, they told the detec-
tive, but one and all mentioned a young fellow named Luch
as having been particularly attentive to the girl. So a police
drag-net was at once spread far and wide for Luch.

While the search was being made for the missing Luch,
Justice of the Peace Henderson entered the morgue, accom-
panied by an attractive young woman in her early twenties.
The young woman was none other than Fannie May herself!

Needless to say, the search for Luch was called off pronto.
The police were back to their starting place again!

By this time, the entire city of Richmond was clamoring
for the blood of the slayer. Virtually every man, woman and
child was doing amateur detective work. Police Headquarters
was besieged by frenzied telephone calls
from persons claiming to hold the key to
the mystery. All clues were carefully run
down, under the direction of Captain
Epps, but none were found to be of any
material value. Three valuable days
had elapsed since Keeper
Rose's gruesome discovery
and the body still lay in the
morgue, unidentified.

O^ the Tuesday following

the crime, the police de-
cided to make another search
of the reservoir grounds.
They literally went over
every inch of the six acres as
with a fine tooth-comb and
were rewarded by finding a
small, gold watch-key—the
type used in the winding of
old-fashioned timepieces. But
this didn't strike the police
as a particularly hot clue, as
the key might have been
dropped by one of the hun-
dreds of self-appointed detec-
tives who had milled over
the reservoir grounds. Cap-
tain Epps, however, con-
sidered the possibility of the
key belonging to the slayer
and its having been overlooked
during the previous search on
account of its tiny size.

EANWHILE, a mental film

was unreeling itself in the
mind of Captain Epps. He was
certain that robbery had not
been the motive for the crime.
The physical condition of the
girl indicated to him that she
had had a lover with whom she

had quarreled. Epps figured that the girl was probably a
stranger in town and that she had come to Richmond to
have an understanding with the father of her unborn child,
and that he had murdered her after the two had been in
dispute. .

By this time, the city was the stamping-ground of scores
of newspaper reporters from all parts of the East. Captain
Epps was wise enough to realize that two newspapermen had
first unearthed the murder angle, so he was more than glad
to cooperate with the rest of the reporters. They, in turn,
pledged their whole-hearted cooperation to the brainy sleuth,
agreeing to print nothing which would tip off the slayer as to
what progress was being made, and thereby defeat the ends of
justice.

BECOMING thoroughly convinced that the murdered girl
had been a stranger in town, Epps figured that she
had probably stopped at a hotel. He went to the American
Hotel, and, upon investigating the records, found that a
girl had registered there as ‘‘Miss F. L. Merton” on Friday,
March 13th, a day preceding the murder, and had been, by a
strange coincidence, assigned to Room 13! This looked like
important information to the detective, so he immediately
summoned the manager of the hotel.
“What time of day did this Miss F. L. Merton register?”
he asked the manager.
"Just a moment, and I'll try to find out," was the response.
The manager returned in a few minutes with the infor-
mation that the girl had registered about an hour before
day-break on March 13th. Captain Epps then asked to
see the hotel clerk who had been present when the
young lady arrived. The clerk happened to be on
duty and smilingly told Epps that he would gladly
answer any questions.
"What did Miss Merton look like?" asked the
detective. d
"She was a little girl, but beautiful to look
at," replied the clerk.
“How old would you say she was?”
"Well, really, I'm not any too good at
judging ages, but I'd say she was
^ somewhere between twenty and
twenty-five."
"Did anyone accompany her to
the hotel?”
“I didn't see anyone."

"Did she say anything re-
garding the rather peculiar
hour of her arrival?”

“Nothing.”

“TUST what time did she
arrive?"

"It was along about four
o'clock in the morning."

"Did she have any bag-
gage?"
( “Yes sir. I distinctly

recall that she carried a
linen satchel which was of
exquisite workmanship. It
was a beautiful piece of
work. I never saw one like it."
"Is that all the baggage?"
“All that I recall."
"Did she wear any jewelry?"
“I didn't notice that."
“Did she wear a coat?”
“No, she wore a bright, red shawl.”
"[ notice that on the register she
didn't give the name of the town
she hailed from. How do you account for that?”

“Well, to tell the truth, the girl was strikingly beautiful
and perhaps I waslookingatherso (Continued om page 87)

“PAY TEN

THOUSAND

Brutally dragged from his home, his terrified wife pleading with
his abductors for mercy, George L. Ohlhausen, of Los Angeles,
believed his final hour had come. In this nerve-thrilling account
he tells just how he felt when all hope seemed lost — as he
lay helplessly bound, blindfolded, and his lips sealed with
adhesive tape!

PRIL roth, 1928—a date indelibly branded upon my
memory!
Lazily relaxed in a deep armchair, after an unusually
heavy day at the office, I finally raised sleepy eyes
from a financial report and noted that the clock on the living-
room mantel indicated the hour of ten.

I rose, bade my wife goodnight, and left her smilingly
absorbed in a book, as I went to my room.

A few minutes later the doorbell rang violently. As I had
partly disrobed, I allowed Thula—my wife—to answer the
summons.

Almost at once, I heard her smothered scream. I rushed
into the room—to find myself covered by a long-barreled,
black automatic in the grasp of a man with the coarse fea-
tures—flat, broken nose and cauliflower ears—of an ex-
pugilist.

"Shut up, damn you!" he growled, as Thula
seized and clung to my arm, trembling and hys-
terical with fright. “It's you I'm after," he went
on, fixing a menacing eye upon me.

"What for?" I demanded. ‘‘Is this a hold-up?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that," he retorted, with
heavy sarcasm. ''We're just going to take you for
a little ride. So get your clothes on and make it
damned: snappy!”

Through my mind flashed the thought of a
Shotgun in the bedroom closet.

“All right," I said, coolly. ‘Wait herea min-
ute." I started toward the bedroom— but all hope
of resistance faded when I realized that the
stranger was almost treading on my heels.

28

"Get a move on!" he rasped. “And don’t try any monkey-
business!”

Remembering my small daughter asleep in an adjoining
room, I decided to submit without question—and hope for a
favorable moment to escape.

Thula, white and stricken, turned to plead with the man
for mercy.

“I told you to shut up!" So saying, he shoved her brutally
against the wall.

My blood boiled. My fingers itched to seize the ruffian by
the throat—but I had seen and heard enough to realize that
if I did, I would probably be shot dead at my wife's feet. I
restrained myself and dressed hurriedly.

A few moments later I was being roughly hustled down the
front walk.

“Call the neighbors!" I managed to turn and shout to
Thula—and caught a last glimpse of her as she collapsed,
sobbing, on the steps. "E.

Cursing fiercely, my abductor, to whom I shall refer here-
after as "Number One," jerked me around.

"Yeh! Notify the police!" he sneered, and shoved me
toward a large touring car parked a few feet west of my
house.

HAD one fleeting look at a young woman seated at the

wheel of the automobile, just before a second man
reached out from the shadows of the tonneau and
dragged me inside. This individual wore a handkerchief
over the lower part of his face. but I saw that he was
dark, powerfully built; and at the first words he uttered,
I was certain I had heard his voice before.
"Lay down there, you ——— ———!" Number Two

(Left) Abandoned warehouse, showing hole

through which Mr. Ohlhausen was dragged by

his captors. (Below) This photograph shows

the cross-bearn to which the victim was bound,

with the rope still hanging to it which was used
to tie him

—OR Dir!”

emphasized this command by a rap on my head with the
barrel of his revolver.

"What's this all about?" I protested, smarting with the
hurt of the blow.

“You'll soon find out. Keep shut!"

Number One then produced a rope from his pocket and hur-
riedly tied my hands together behind my back, while Number
Two secured my ankles with more of the same kind of cord.

Meanwhile, the girl at the wheel
had driven rapidly down the quiet
street.

With Number One's feet planted
on the back of my neck, those of
Number Two on my legs, and my
face jammed against the foot-rail,
I could only guess at what was
going on. Apparently, the driver
was steering the car up one street
and down another, obeying the
commands of Number Two, who
directed her by an occasional curt
o AE A “or
“Right!” Several
times, I heard
newsboys calling
their papers, and
assumed we were
not far from the
business district
adjacent to the
street on which I
resided.

After perhaps
fifteen minutes,
Number Two, who
seemed to be the leader
of the trio, ordered. the
girl to stop.

“Put out those damn
lights," he added. ‘‘And
keep youreyesshut, you!”’

As told by the victim,

GEORGE L. OHLHAUSEN,
to MADELINE KELLEY

"Here! Let me see," Number Two leaned over and, with
a wrench that brought a cold sweat to my forehead, pulled
the ring and a considerable portion of flesh, from my finger.

“Drive on, Peggy!" Again we were on our way, headed for
I knew not where.

Some twenty minutes later, I judged, we stopped again,
this time in a quiet section.

I felt another kick in the small of
my back.

"T ISTEN, you!” said the voice of
Number Two. “When I say
‘pay off,’ I'm talking about real
money. How much can you raise?"

I considered for a moment.

"Maybe I could scrape up forty-
five hundred, if you'll give me a
little time. I have about that much
in the bank."

“Ts your life worth ten grand to
you?" was the
sneering query.

“Would be if I
had it."

“How about
that house you
live in? Got any
property?"

"Yes. I might
get a loan on the
house."

“All right!
Take hold there,
Tom."

I was seized by the feet
and dragged írom the
floor of the car, my head
striking the running-
board with sickening force
before I was dropped to

He gave me a vicious jab
in the ribs with his gun.

“TI fix him!" said Number One. A
moment later I felt something soft—like
absorbent cotton—pressed against my eye-
lids. Then, a band of adhesive tape was
stretched across my eyes and wound around
my head, covering my ears and rendering me
more or less deaf, as well as blind.

“Now, listen!" said the voice of Number

Ohlhausen as he looked
shortly after his esca
from the living death he
suffered while in the
clutches of the kidnapers
—one of the most horrible
ordeals any man ever ex-
perienced! Note the scars
left by the adhesive tape
on his wrists, mouth, and
neck

the ground.

My lips were then
sealed by another strip of adhesive tape
applied by Number One, at the command of
his chief.

"Don't cover his nostrils, you fool!" he
admonished sharply. “We don't want him
to kick out now." And added this cheerful
remark: “I lost one that way
once!"

Two. “And get me right! Are you ready to pay off?"

“Pay off?" I repeated. ‘‘What do you mean?”

"Don't play dumb! You know what I mean. How much
you got?”

"About a hundred and seventy-five dollars," I said, after
a moment's hesitation.

"Where is it?"

"In my right hip pocket."

"Any diamonds?"

"Yes," I admitted, reluctantly. “On my left hand. But
the ring is too tight to take off."

The wallet was quickly extracted from my hip pocket, and
one of my captors tugged at the three-carat stone on my
hand. :

"Can't get it off," he finally panted.

“Cut his damned finger off!" I recognized the brutal tones
of Number Two.

"Untie my hands," I pleaded. “I can take it off."

This operation completed, I was picked up by the two
men—the girl, who had not spoken a word, apparently
remained in the car—and carried probably a hundred yards.
Toward the last I got the impression of being carried through
a tunnel.

All this while, only the dreary hoot of an owl broke the
sinister silence of the night. ;

Then, the men stopped and lowered me, none too gently, to
the ground. One of them, grasping me under the arms, dragged
me backward until I felt, rather than heard, his body strike
against something solid. There followed a torrent of pro-
fanity in the voice of Number One.

“What the devil's the matter now?" demanded Number
Two, impatiently.

“I just about cracked my skull on this damned post!" the
other flung back. “Ain't that enough?”

Still lying on the ground, I was then bound to what 1
supposed was piling—confirming my growing suspicion that

29

30

we were under one of the docks near the waterfront at San
Pedro Harbor. At the same time, I heard the drone of an
engine; it sounded like the engine of a motor-boat, and 1 was
at once beset with sickening visions of myself slain and my
body carried out to sea and cast overboard.

I was brought back to the present situation by the voice
of Number Two.

“Watch him close, Tom, and if he tries to get tough, use
this." I felt the cold muzzle of a revolver against my neck.
“D'you hear? Just start something if you want a slug of this
right behind the ear!" I squirmed in spite of myself, and my
tormentor laughed loudly. “Now, old boy, we'll give you
time to make up your mind how you're going to produce the
jack—and I'll say this: the longer you keep us waitin', the
more you'll pay. I'm a busy guy.”

I nodded understanding, and he grunted acknowledgment
of my acquiescence.

"Before I go, I'll run down the road a ways and get you a
sandwich, Tom," he went on. ''You've got a long wait ahead.
And here's a blanket for you."

For some minutes, silence reigned. Then,
the voice of Number Two, a short distance
away, called to his accomplice to “‘come get
the grub.”

I heard nothing more until loud snores
indicated that my guard was asleep.

THE horror of that seemingly endless,
never-to-be-forgotten night!

In the first place, it was intensely cold, and
only by constantly rocking back and forth
could I keep
my blood cir-
culating.

For brief
periods my
brain seemed
benumbed, and
ceased to func-
tion. Then, my
faculties would
leap to life and
I would writhe
in helpless
agony, for I
was convinced
that I was
doomed to die!
I recalled that,
inalmostevery
kidnaping case
of which I had
ever heard, the
victim had
been murdered
—and thegrue-
some details of the kidnaping and murder of little Marian
Parker, the fiendish crime that had rocked the continent,
surged to the fore in my mind, in all their gory horror!

At best, I might be held hostage for a few days, during
which I would probably be made to endure various forms of
torture, but in the end, even though I had complied with my
abductors’ demands and the ransom money paid, I would be
killed—for dead men tell no tales!

I thought of my home, of my little daughter, the dear wife
whom I might never see again—and in a frenzy I tried
desperately to loosen the bonds that held me. - My efforts
were unavailing.

Then, carefully and quietly, I scraped my right cheek
along the ground until I managed to work a small quantity
of soft dirt under the bandage and into my eyes. I knew that
the irritation would produce tears, and hoped they would
dissolve the zinc oxide lining of the adhesive tape that blind
folded me.

Three lower photos are by

this case by the Los Angeles Police

of Detectives.

Homicide Saue : Joseph
harles E. Vernand,

Ohlhausen remained a prisoner for 22 hours, in an agony of physical and mental
suffering before he finally escaped. Five hours after his escape the kidnapers I
under arrest. Here are the men who directed the efficient work in the

Department. (Above
(Below-left to a) Captain Homer B. Cross, Commanding
F. Taylor, Leser, "Bureau, and Captain

True Detective Mysteries

I was overjoyed when my efforts finally succeeded! I
found myself able to look down the side of my nose through
a tiny opening. It was already daylight.

I could see the knots that bound my ankles. Twisting
within the ropes, I bent my head back and peered in the
direction of my keeper. There he lay, mouth open, breathing
noisily. A paper napkin and empty milk bottle nearby
testified to the food he had consumed the night before.

Beside his inert hand, and within five feet of my reach, lay
his gun! If I could only free my hands! I might in some way
manage, with a stick or chance piece of wire, to get possession
of the weapon.

While staring at the revolver, fascinated, I was startled
to hear the voice of Number Two.

"Hey, Tom! Wake up! It's six o'clock."

Feigning sleep, I made no move, but took a long look at
this man whose voice sounded so oddly familiar.

Ah! I had it now. He had been pointed out to me at a
nearby table in a restaurant in Hollywood, as Ed Morris,
notorious hi-jacker and bootlegger. Hisarro-
gant manner had impressed me unfavorably,
and I was never to forget his peculiarly dis-
agreeable voice, as he bullied the waiters and
made himself generally conspicuous.

Needless to say, I realized that, at the
slightest sign of recognition on my part, he
would not hesitate to send a bullet crashing
into my brain.

"How's he been behaving, Tom?"

“All right," came the sleepy answer.

There were a few moments of silence,
during which I
seemed to feel
the eyes of
Morris boring
into me. Fin-

Bly he
nted:
“Well, come

on out here,
Tom. I wanta
talk to you.”

There fol-
lowed another
long silence,
that seemed to
last for hours.
Finally, in
spite of my
anguish of
mindand body,
I must have
fallen asleep
from sheer ex-
haustion.
I was awak-
ened by a sharp kick on the sole of my shoe, and an oath.

“Figured out where that money's coming from?" the voice
of Morris demanded.

I shook my head, weakly.

Edwards-Hostetler Studio, Los Angeles

handling of
) Toanen H. Cline, Chief

ing University Division

“TAKE that bandage off his mouth, Tom. Then, if he
won't talk, we'll put the hot rod to his foot. That
usually gets results."

The adhesive was torn from my mouth with such violence
as to cause my lips to bleed profusely.

I had lain for hours on the dusty ground, and my throat
was so parched with thirst that my voice was hardly more
than a feeble croak as I begged my captors for water.

“Plenty of time for that later," snapped Morris. “You'll
answer a few questions first. Can you get your wife to go
get the money out of the bank?"

I told him we had only about forty-five hundred in the
savings account and that it could not be withdrawn without

“Pay Ten Thousand—or Die!” . 31

Photo, above, by Luckhaus Studio, Los Angeles

written authority from me.

“We'll make him write a
note," said Morris.

At his order, “Tom” re-
moved the tape and cotton
from my eyes and ears, and
untied the cords that had held
my hands behind my back for
so many hours. My arms fell
to my sides like dead weights,
and it was only aíter brisk
rubbing by my captors that
I was able to use them.

I was handed a writing-
tablet and pencil, and told to
write what was dictated to me
by Morris, who first asked me
my wife's name and several
questions regarding the feasi-
bility of raising money. Fol-
lowing is the note that I was
compelled to write, while my
abductors stood behind me,
warning me—under threat of
death—not to look around:

Mrs. Ohlhausen
Dear Thula

You go to the Farmers &
Merchants Bank and get
that 4500.00 that is on sav-
ing acct and what there is
on the checking acct also
there is a hundred or two in
The Pacific So West at
Washington & Vermont
and take deeds of the house
and the new house and raise the balance of 10000. You will be
able to get some 5000 on the houses that will make up the 10000.
(Deliver the 10000 to these people and for God's sake do as th
say. Do not talk to Police. If anyone asks where I am te
them San Francisco. Keep your mouth shut and the quicker
vou do as I say the quicker) I will get home.

Have Curley help you and keep his mouth shut

Your Dady
Geo. L. Ohlhausen

Ld.

Tom then produced a pop bottle and I was given a few
swallows of water. Somewhat refreshed, I was encouraged to
ask my abductors why I had been selected as their victim.

"Oh, it just happened to be you this time," replied Morris.
"And you're not so well known that the police will kick up a
hell of a fuss. I've got several more chosen besides you.

They're all gonna get the same dose when the time comes."

When I felt the adhesive being applied to my eyes
again, I ventured a vigorous protest:

“For God's sake, don't tie me up like a mummy again!
You know I'm not going to make a break. A man doesn't,
you know, with his hands in the gears, and especially,
with you fellows holding a forty-five apiece. I give you
my word.”

“Your word don’t mean nothing to us. Sit still there,
or I'll brain you!”

They went calmly on, bandaging my eyes and mouth
securely, but not before a swift glance around showed me
that we were under some large building.

To my intense relief, they decided to tie my hands in
front instead of behind me. I was made to bend over,
while my wrists were secured tightly together with cord,
then covered with adhesive. This same cord was wound
around my ankles—leaving me bent almost double.
Again, I was tied to what I now discovered was a cross-
brace, supporting the building overhead, instead of piling.

Lk, um

(Above—left to right) Lieut. Wm. G. Marr
and F. A. Murphy, who arrested the kid-
napers, are seen examining the rope used to
bind the victim. (Center) The ransom
letter which Ohlhausen was compelled to
write to his wife while his abductors stood
over him, warning him, under threat of
death, not to look around to see where he was.
(Left) Photograph of the victim, taken after
his escape

Morris’ voice then informed me that he and “Tom” were
going to the city to have my letter delivered to Mrs. Ohl-
hausen, but that there was a man upstairs who had been
hired to watch me, and the slightest move on my part
would be heard by him.

Promising to return soon, they departed.

I lay there in an agony of apprehension, dreading what
might be Thula’s fate if these ruffians got her in their
clutches. I pictured her, helpless, terrified, willing to make
any sacrifice they might demand, in order to secure my re-
lease. I prayed that she had called the police—that they
were with her now, protecting her.

Hours of waiting that seemed interminable, during which
I listened in vain for sounds of life overhead.

At last I sensed that daylight had faded once more into

32 True Detective Mysteries

darkness, and I made one last resolve: that I would escape—
or die in the attempt!

With the supernatural strength born of desperation, I
strained and tugged at my bonds. Finally, my head, minus
some skin from my ears, emerged from the noose about my
throat. Again lowering my head to my hands, I ripped the
bandages from my eyes and mouth. Next, I dug my heels
into the ground until my shoes came off, then slipped my
stockinged feet through the rope that confined my ankles.
With hands still trussed together, I untied the rope that en-
circled the post.

I was free!

Weak and trembling, I managed to crawl from beneath the
building.

Once outside, I hurriedly took my bearings from the stars—
then started to run wildly in the opposite direction from town.
] figured that if
my kidnapers re-
turned,they would
assume I had
headed'forthecity.

Through vine-
yards and fields I
ran until I espied
à light ahead—a
faint, friendly
gleam that made
me redouble my
efforts, until I fell,
half fainting from
exhaustion and
hunger, on the
threshold of a
farmhouse.

An aston-
ished rancher
threw open the
door, and at
once helped me
inside and un-
tied my hands.

I stammered a
few words that
must have been
unintelligible,
then staggered
to the wall-telephone nearby, and gave
my home number. Thula responded,
and I heard her voice break with hap-
piness when she learned I was safe.

She told me of receiving an anony-
mous telephone call that evening
about 7:30, from a woman who had
asked her if she would be reasonable,
call off the police and obey the orders
she was shortly to receive from her
husband. Thula had instantly an-
swered yes—pleaded with this woman
to beg my captors to treat me kindly.

Shortly afterward, a taxicab driver
had called and delivered my note

to the rancher, who was watching me curiously, and briefly
explained what had happened. After a few horrified ex-
clamations, he insisted on my drinking a cup of coffee and
swallowing some food; then rushed to the telephone and
called Central Police Headquarters.

A moment later I was conversing with Chief of Detectives
Herman H. Cline of the Los Angeles Police Department. He
ordered me to stay where I was—5618 Lindley Avenue, Reseda
(a small town in the San Fernando Valley), and informed me
that a detail of uniformed officers would be immediately
dispatched from the nearest police station to the address.

He instructed me to open the door to no one, other than
a uniformed officer—for fear the kidnapers would return,
find that I had escaped, and trace me to that place.

Within a few minutes, a half dozen blue-coated patrolmen
were on the scene. They were soon followed by a powerful
car which whirled
up the driveway,
and from which
three plainclothes
officers alighted.
They exhibited
their badges and
introduced them-
selves as Inspector
Joseph F. Taylor,
Detective Bureau,
Captain Chas. E.
Vernand, com-
manding Univer-
sity Division, and
Captain Homer

B. Cross, com-

manding

Homicide

Squad, Central

Detective Bu-

reau, all of the

Los Angeles

Police Depart-
ment.

After I had
given detailed
descriptions of
the kidnapers,
Inspector Tay-

lor ordered four uniformed men, armed
with sawed off shotguns, to drive me to
the spot where I had been held prisoner.

"When you locate the place," the
Inspector commanded, “three of you
officers will remain on stake; the other
one will drive Mr. Ohlhausen back to
this house. You three boys"—fixing
a stern eye upon the selected trio—
“will find some place near the building
and hide out. Keep a close watch—
and if those kidnapers show up there,
bring them in or turn in your badges!"

I had lost all sense of direction

-w

to her. The driver, who had been
promptly arrested by two detectives
stationed at the house since my kid-
naping, declared that he had no idea of
the note's contents: that it had been
handed to him by a “young dame"
while he was parked at a downtown
curb, with instructions to deliver it to
that address. However, it appeared
that he was held for further questioning.
After assuring my wife that I
would return home as quickly as
possible, I hung up. Then, I turned

(Above—left to right) Robert Corbett,
ex-pugilist, kidnaper No. 1, and Edward
Morris, bootlegger, kidnaper No. 2,
each of whom received penitentiary
sentences of 10 years to iife. Below
their pictures is seen the paper napkin,
water bottle and milk bottle—remainder
of the repast partaken of by Corbett at
the spot where he acted as guard over the
victim, Ohlhausen, on that fatal night.
(Bottom) Another view of the aban-
doned warehouse near Los Angeles, un-
derneath which Mr. Ohlhausen was held
for $10,000.00 ransom. Notehousein the
background. The victim heard children
playing near by, but was afraid to call
out for fear the kidnapers would hear.

during my flight, and it was some time
before I could point out the right
building to my escorts. When I
finally spotted it, we made sure that
the kidnapers were not in that vicinity;
then, three of the officers alighted
and the other drove me back to the
ranch-house. (I had discovercd, mean-
while, that the ‘‘motor-boat’’ engine
I fancied I had heard the previous
night, was merely an irrigation pump
installed on a ranch a short distance
down the road.)

From there, (Continued on page 107)

WHY Wealthy Women

Miss De Santis, who gives the following account to our
special writer, Miss Stephen, has gained an enviable
reputation as a brilliant detective

NOTE: Three of New York's leading stores figure prominently in this
story, but for obvious reasons, fictitious names have been substituted.

shoplifters are brought for investigation, was one of the
most interesting girls I have ever met.

Her brilliant intelligence was mirrored in large,
lustrous, hazel gray eyes, set wide apart. A delicately
moulded, aquiline nose and sensitively curved lips, to-
gether with a sun-tanned complexion and ash-blond wavy
hair, created an ensemble altogether representative of
the much-admired typical “American Beauty” model.

On the desk in front of us lay her open pocketbook
exposing a nice roll of bills, amounting to $108.00—and
two pairs of black, silk stockings, a piece of moderately
priced underwear and a pair of gloves—the cheap prizes
she had given herself in return for her descent to the
level of a common thief.

Without any resistance she had returned to Jordan's
store with me when I placed her under arrest on Fifth
Avenue, and, though a bit white-lipped, she had
calmly told me that she taught psychology in a large
girls’ school, that she belonged to a prominent fam-
ily, and that her people moved in an exclusive social set.

“You are a nice-looking girl, beautifully gowned, and
had in your possession the money to buy these things.
Why did you steal them?" I asked her. "Didn't you
realize that, if you were caught, it would mean disgrace
to you and your family, and the loss of your wonderful
position? Why do you wealthy, cultured women steal?"

G soni alongside me in the grim, little backroom where

STEAL

Why DO they steal? Why
should anyone, who is wealthy,
steal? Especially, why should
prominent and fashionable
women, like common thieves, steal
articles of clothing, and so on?
One of New York's cleverest
women detectives here tells why

By AMELIA DE SANTIS
Department Store Detective
As told to ISABEL STEPHEN

-

And before the arresting officer arrived from the Thirtieth
Street Police Station, that fashionable young woman gave
me an answer to the enigma of the wealthy women thieves,
which I believe is the correct one.

It has always amazed me that such women steal. Fate—
or whatever it is that is accountable for the good and the
bad that is doled out to us—has thrown so many of the gifts
of life right into their laps, and has assured them against all
the petty and great financial handicaps that gum up the works
for most of us.

There has always seemed to me to be such a wide, wide
breach between those cultured women I have from time to
time “run in,” and the regular professionals, such as Rose
Roser, Ruby Harris, Ruth Wilson, John Pinto, Grace Mar-
tin, John Hammons, alias Hammond, Michael Conti, alias
Morella, Mary MacDonald, alias the “Irish Queen," James
Allen, alias Arthur Jolson, Fred Morris, Nellie Knapp, and
Stephen Moore, who are just a few of the shoplifters, pick-
pockets and burglars against whom I have frequently ap-

This young shoplifter, whose name we withhold, has been in
trouble with the police ever since she was 14 years old

= 33

34

peared in court, that it rather stunned me when this young
teacher of psychology cynically bunched them all to-
gether.

Once upon a time, when a woman of means was caught
stealing, her lawyer tried to make out that she was a ''klepto-
maniac." Now a kleptomaniac is described by the psychia-
trists as a person who has “a morbid or insane propensity to
pilfer. There is a marked distinction in law," so continues
the definition, "between the tendency to steal, frequently
present in connection with well defined forms of insanity and
kleptomania, which is a defective mental characteristic bor-
dering on insanity, but on one subject only. In England
and most of the United States, the principal subjects con-
sidered by the courts, in determining the responsibility of
theaccused, are the history of any hereditary taint, the
absence of any motive, and the presence of neurotic
symptoms."

OF course, there are crazy bugs among the rich
as well as among the poor, and I have read
about how the husbands of ‘“‘kleptomaniacs’’ have
instructed store executives to charge them with the
pilferings of their weak-minded wives—but though
I have worked in most of New York's largest estab-
lishments, I have never come across such an ar-
rangement—nor have I ever arrested a wealthy
thief whom the courts freed on the count that he
or she was a "kleptomaniac!" .

The only points which lawyers, defending those
shoplifters whom I have caught, have emphasized
are the absence of motive, the unblemished char-
acter of their clients and their numerous philan-

I saw her
take the
necklace and
slip it into
her handbag

thropies. They don't try the "kleptomania" gag any more—

they know it wouldn't get over with the judge!

OWEVER, before I give you the explanation given me
by that young teacher of psychology, I want to tell you

an almost unbelievable side to these cases. When a wealthy
woman is caught stealing in a department store, her family
will move heaven and earth to discredit the girl detective
who makes the charge. They will take the most sordid means
to blacken her character—which is rather paradoxical when
you consider the stress the lawyers placc on the philanthropies

True Detective Mysteries

and other good works practised by their charitable clients.

I hold no resentment against any of them, but the general
public would be surprised if it knew to what levels they will
sink in trying to escape the penalty of their wrong doing.
The funny thing is, that by going to those extremes, they
forfeit their chances of evading publicity. They have, all
their lives, been so accustomed to posing on a pedestal erected
by their wealth that they seem to feel that nothing can drag
them down to the common level.

Many of my experiences in connection with these ''high-
falutin'"" women may seem like plots manufactured by
authors of such literature as "Pitfalls of a Great City,"
"Virtue Triumphant," and so on. They have been very
melodramatic.

I will not mention the real name of a certáin great lady and
much publicized “philanthropist,” the name of her lawyer,
nor the name of the detective she hired to “ruin me,” but, to
prove the authenticity of the story, I will
give the names of the judges in General
Sessions before whom the case was tried.

It was while I was working in a Broad-
way store that I “ran in’ Mrs. Carlton
Carter, as I shall nom-de-guerre
the ritzy lady in this case.

I was sauntering around the
aisles, my eyes “peeled” for
professional “boosters” and ‘‘oc-
casional thieves," when I saw a
stunningly dressed woman enter.
Like most girls who have to
scratch for a living, the appear-
ance of a member of the so
called idle rich always arouses,
in me, a certain feeling of fas-
cination and admiration.
^" Mrs. Carter had all
the characteristics of the
de-luxe class. Her wrap
was a very chic, loose-
fitting model in dark
blue broadcloth, with
collar and cuffs of Rus-
sian sablc. A small, very
smart, matching blue
cloche covered her black
hair, which was seen
only in two “wings”
brought low over her
ears. Sheer, black, silk
stockings. and patent
leather pumps; a gold-
mesh bag and the latest
thing in dark blue,
French kid gloves, com-
pleted a costume which
was perfection in every
detail. ''Soignée," that
adjective which
describes the ultra in
grooming and gowning,
was personified in this
customer.

Nor in the least because I suspected her of pilfering inten-
tions, but for the sheer joy of looking at something so
exquisite, I quietly followed her about the store. She walked
around rather aimlessly, as women shoppers so often do,
glancing at this and that, pricing various articles, asking the
clerks to display goods not on the racks nor on the counters.

Just as I was about to give up my admiring trail, I saw her
approach a counter where taffeta silk petticoats were dis-
played. Now that women seldom wear more than a couple of
apologies for undergarments, I wondered what this mirror-
of-fashion wanted with those rether bulky remnants of a

Why w ealthy

bygone age. She certainly could not want them for herself.

“For some old-fashioned aunts,” I said to myself. It is
rather monotonous, patrolling the same aisles day after day,
seeing the same goods, and the same class of customers, and,
as an escape from this routine outlook, I have developed a
habit of speculating about the men and women who come to
the store in which I happen to be working.

I saw the elegantly gowned lady speak to the saleswoman
and saw the latter turn her back to the counter and seek some
evidently requested model on the shelves. Though the lady
moved quick as a flash, my experienced eyes didn't miss a
motion as they saw her select two skirts and hide them under
a heap of other merchan-
dise which was lying before
her. Naturally, I was
amazed. I remained glued
to the spot.

When the salesgirl turned
with the goods she had
taken from the shelf, the
customer examined them,
made a petulant grimace,
and pointed to two or three
flashily colored ones—un-
der which she had secreted
the two skirts which I was
then convinced she in-
tended to steal. The girl
turned again to the shelves. This time, with one swooping
movement, the woman snapped up the two petticoats and
hid them under her loose coat. As I expected, she walked
away without buying anything.

I followed her out to the sidewalk, approached her and
said:

"Madam, you'll have to come back to the' store with me.
You have merchandise on your person you haven't paid for."

"What do you mean?" she demanded very haughtily, as
she loosened her grip on the pilfered petticoats and let them
fall on the pavement. “I have none of your merchandise.
I don't know what you are talking about! If you annoy me
further, I'll call an officer."

I carefully noted the exact spot on which the stolen goods
had fallen. It was about fifteen feet from the store entrance.

“Those tactics will avail you nothing," I told her, catching
hold of her coat sleeve. “You had better come back with me
quietly. I'm not going to let you off, and you will only
create a scene."

Though she was highly indignant, she saw the usclessness
and inadvisability of making a struggle. Passersby were be-
ginning to look at us. I picked up the petticoats with one
hand, while holding on to her with the other. It looked just
like a friendly grip—but a prisoner knows it means business.
I am not very tall and, occasionally, a thief has attempted to
escape that grip—but has never succeeded! Just let him or
her attempt to struggle and I grab hold of the other wrist also
—when that doesn't convince them, a foot placed neatly
between their ankles brings them down in an ignominious
heap on the ground.

TOOK the woman to the Investigation Bureau office of the

store and there searched her. We were absolutely alone,
my polished and high-toned captive treating me to such a
vicious tongue-lashing as I have never received from the
lowest down crook raised in the vilest of dives.

“Tf you will sign a statement that you took this merchan-
dise," I said to her, entirely disregarding her vociferous
vituperation, "and promise never to enter this store again,
that will be the end of this matter."

She refused with another volley of threats and abuse. I
telephoned to the Thirtieth Street Police Station, asking them
lo send over an arresting officer. At that moment someone
knocked at the door. I was through searching the woman,
whom I am calling Mrs. Carter, so I opened the door. An
office boy walked in.

Women Steal 35

In due time the arresting officer arrived and took the shop-
lifter off to the Police Station. I promptly forgot all about her.
She became just one of hundreds I had arrested—all my ad-
miration of her and her high social position had evaporated.

Two days afterwards—late in the afternoon—a young
man called at the office.

"Are you Miss Amelia De Santis?" he asked. I nodded.

“The chief detective in Robinson's store has told my boss a
great deal about you," he went on. “He says you are a
wonderfully clever girl—one of the brightest operatives in the
city.”

I knew thedetective in Robinson’s store and such praise from

(Left) May White, notori-
ous pickpocket, is at-
tempting to frustrate the
art of the photographer.
It took two policemen to
hold her head in position.
Seems to be registering
sorrow, a common trick
of crooks so their faces
wont be recognized. (Be-
low) Mrs. Brashaer alias
Clark. She swindled de-
partment stores through
worthless checks. One of
the few women prisoners
to escape from jail.

such a source meant
an awful lot to me.
I tried to take the
“trade - last" non-
chalantly, though
it was with an effort
that I murmured
some indistinct re-
sponse.

“MY boss has

some sum-
monses that's very
hard to serve—all
his men have fallen
down on the job—
and he would like
to meet you if
you're interested in
doing some extra
work," he con-
tinued hurriedly.
"He'll pay you ten
dollars for every
summons you man-
age to serve. There are six summonses. Can you serve them?"

I asked him who his boss was and he told me that he was
head of a big detective agency. If I thought I could find
time to do the work I was to telephone the office and make an
appointment.

The sixty dollars looked good to me, for at that time my
salary was not a large onc. To make a long story short. I
telephoned the office and arranged to meet the head of the
detective agency at the Hotel Martinique that evening at
seven o'clock. He told me he would carry a white carnation
in his hand so that I would know him. Gosh, the darned little
fool that I was—the remembrance of that carnation—a long-
stemmed one it was—makes me laugh, now!

Mrs. Carter's case had come up in the Magistrate's Court.
Her lawyer had cross-examined me for twenty minutes. 1
testified just how she had taken the merchandise, how she had
left the premises and the exact spot where she had dropped
it. Though he tried to hint at a “frame-up” and did his best
to bring out an animosity motive—that I had been acting
for some jealous social rival, or something of that sort--[
convinced the Magistrate that I was telling the truth and the

36

woman was held on $500.00 bail for General Sessions.

That had all been a minor part of the day’s work, and no
one was further from my mind than Mrs. Carter when I en-
tered the Hotel Martinique that evening.

AS soon as I entered the foyer of the hotel I spied a stout,

gray-haired, red-faced, middle-aged man carrying a long-
stemmed white carnation. He had one of those walrus mus-
taches that give men such a reliable, fatherly sort of atmos-
phere. If I hadn't been so keen on making that sixty dollars—
which, by the way, I had mentally spent by that time—he
would have struck me as a funny-looking old boy. But I was
desperately eager.

I introduced myself and we went into the restaurant.

I'll call this detective Mr. Jackson; it wasn't a nice job he
put over on me, but he was well paid for the dirty work and it
was all in line with his business. He told me that his firm
handled only civil cases and professed great interest in my
work.

“I heard that you were a very clever, ambitious girl," he
applesauced, as soon as he had given the waiter the order,
"but I'm surprised to find you such a little bit of a thing.
You look very young," he added, rather doubtfully.

Miss De San- Afraid that I might
tis, who miss this chance—and
pond or this others that might grow
ic : jt
i ure out of it—I spoke fast,
she trips a
suspect who
tries to es-

cape from her

telling him of my varied experiences and that I had started
in the game when I was only fifteen.

"Well, I think you're just the girl I've been looking for,"
he murmured gravely. ‘These summonses have to be served
on certain persons living in a private house. They are wealthy
people and you'll have to get in past the servants. You
could easily pass as a Red Cross worker.”

He went on to tell me the various details, and I went on
with my efforts to convince him that I could do the job.

“I haven't the summonses with me tonight," he said,
when I asked him where they were. The dinner was de-
licious, the music lovely—but there was someone else I
would have preferred for my companion outside of business
hours. “The man who has been trying to serve them tele-

True Detective Mysteries

phoned me that he would bring them back to the office to-
night. What about you and me taxi-ing down there now to
get them?”

Jackson had questioned me at such length about my work
that it had become quite late. What would have happened
had we gone to the office I don't know, as I told him I had a
friend waiting for me at home and I offered to call at his place
the next day and get the summonses.

"No, don't do that," he hastened to put in. ‘These
people we are after are very wealthy, and they may have
someone watching the office in the day-time. Suppose you
take dinner with me on Wednesday evening at Shanley's.
I may as well show you the sights. I'll take you only to the
nicest places, you may be sure, and your parents couldn't
object for I'm old enough to be your father."

That was on a Monday night. I was disappointed at the
delay, but agreed to meet him Wednesday.

On Wednesday he suggested that we have a cocktail before
dinner. I took it, for I wanted to prove that I was more ex-
perienced in the ways of the world than I looked. But when
he suggested a second one and, later on, wine, I refused.

Again, he questioned me very closely about my work.

“Do you ever arrest very wealthy women?" he managed to
slide in the query cunningly, just after I had described to him
how I brought in big, husky men and women without causing
à scene on the street.

“Why, yes, occasionally," I told him.
locked up one."

"Aren't you afraid of them?" he asked. "With all
their money they might be able to fix it with the judge."

“That’s not been my experience and I have never heard
of such a thing."

"Who was the richest woman you ever locked up?"
He leaned eagerly across the table, the walrus trimmings
fairly trembling in excitement.

“Oh, I can't mention names. Why should I hurt her?
She never did anything to me. If I gave you her name
you'd know who she was in a minute. She
made a bad blunder and is paying for it in
the court, but that's no reason why I should
add to the suffering she's going through now."

"Last week I

RYING to switch the conversation from

the subject of Mrs. Carter, I told him about
cases I considered very interesting, but after
a while he came back at me.

"I'm awfully interested in your work.
Imagine a woman with all the money in the
world shop-lifting. What type of woman was
the one you were telling me about—the one
you arrested last week? Why did she steal?”
"She was a very refined, good-looking, well-educated
woman," I told him. Then, at his request, I went into the de-
tails of the case, describing exactly how I had observed her
taking the merchandise when the clerk was not looking, how
she had deftly concealed it under her coat, holding it in place
right under her árm with her handbag, and how I had followed
her out of the store before arresting her, because the law
doesn't look upon it as a theft until the customer has left
the premises with the merchandise.

*Mightn't she claim that she did it from absent-minded-
ness?"

“Oh, Mr. Jackson, how could she?" I smiled. 'Customers
sometimes walk out with a bracelet on their wrists, or a pocket-
book in their hands or something’ of that sort. . Then the
store detective approaches them tactfully and brings the mer-
chandise to their attention. But an innocent, absent-minded
customer doesn't conceal merchandise under her coat. The
lady you are so interested in discussing claimed that she
didn't take the petticoats, and the only way I could prove
the case was to bring her before the judge—and let her lawyer
prove by cross-examining me that she did take it. Had she
admitted the larceny and promised not to come in the store
again, she would have been released .

Why Wealthy Women Steal 37

"Are you going to tell the judge that she was a nice woman
and didn't mean to steal? You seem to have a sort of sym-
pathy for her.”

"That's up to the judge. I have nothing to do about that
part. All I have to do is to answer questions put to me as to
how she took the goods and so on."

I noticed a long, narrow package lying on the table and
guessed it contained the summonses. Mr. Jackson had placed
it there when wesat down. Ididn'tlike to change the subject
of conversation, for I was raised to have a great respect for
older people, and I was afraid this nice old gentleman might
think me rude and forward. At last, however, I timidly put
the question: ‘‘Are these the summonses?”’

With a benevolent smile, he untied the string, took off the
outer wrappings and, to my surprise, disclosed a shallow card-
board box. This he opened and passed it over to me. It con-
tained a half dozen of the most exquisitely sheer, black, silk
stockings. I caught my breath!

"How lovely!" I exclaimed. “Some girl is going to be made
very happy.”

“They're for you," he beamed. I caught my breath again.
Of course, he had taken up two evenings of my time, and I had
been going to suggest that it would be better if he waited until
he had the summonses before we met again, so I calculated this
present was a recompense. He quickly disillusioned me!
e oak on one condition..... " [looked at him inquiringly.
Perhaps they were to be a bonusif I managed to serve the sum-
monses? ",.... that you allow me to put them on for you.”

I felt sick. “Oh, no, I couldn't do that!" I stuttered, shov-
ing the box containing the lovely hosiery back across the table.

“Well, if you won't, I'll give them to a girl I know who will,”
he laughed, his walrus mustache working up and down like an
animated, scraggy brush. It was a fat laugh that disgusted
me. I suppose my repugnance showed itself in my face, for he
covered the box, tied it up, and alibied: "I knew a sweet, little
girl like you wouldn't permit any such liberties. I was only
fooling! It's still early. Let's go to a roof garden. .. .. . M

HAD borrowed some money from my mother on the

strength of the sixty dollars I had been so sure of, and hated
like the deuce to let the opportunity of earning it slip. I
knew, of course, he hadn't been fooling at all. Once or twice
during the evening I had had to ignore a decidedly off-color
joke he had told.:

“I'm sorry, but I'll have to go home now,” I told him.
“When do you think you'll have the summonses?”

“T hope the man who has them will turn up tomorrow. 1
guess they work you pretty hard at the store, Do you get a
call-down when you don't make arrests—or when mer-
chandise disappears and you haven't made any arrests—say,
for a day or two?"

"Why, no! Ido the best I can. A good sales-girl can talk a
woman into buying an article she had no intention of buying,
but a store detective can't make a woman steal," I laughed.
“She has to steal first before you approach her at all.”

I started to fasten my fur about my throat as a hint. He
paid the check and, when we reached the street, signaled a
taxicab. I gave him my address in the Bronx.

The first thing I knew the cab stopped in front of a large,
dark-looking house in the nineties near Riverside Drive.

"Why are we stopping here?" I asked him.

“This is where you have to serve the summonses,” he told
me as he opened the door and held out his hand to me. “I
want you to go up and ring the bell inside the vestibule. I'll
come with you. We'll see if the lady is in."

This struck me as very foolish. I wasn't at all afraid.
Though. the block was deserted except for a couple of young
fellows standing and talking on the opposite side of the street,
it isn't in my nature to be unduly suspicious.

"We haven't the summonses,” I objected, refusing to leave
my seat. “Let’sdo this thing right! You'vebeen going about
it in the wrong way—that's why you've had so much trouble
in serving them. You've got to use ingenuity in these things.
Your idea of my posing as a Red Cross worker is good but this

would be silly—there's no use our going in there empty-
handed. It would only arouse their suspicions.”

He reminded me that he was so much older than I was, and
that he had had so much more experience, that I ought to be
guided by him.

For a little while we argued along those lines. I refused to
budge and it ended by his getting back in the cab.

He was quite sulky at first. I told him I was sorry if I had
seemed obstinate, but I had served many summonses and
knew just how to go about it.

“All right, girlie,” he granted, finally. ‘Then, let's change

Miss De Santis illustrates
her method of gripping a
shoplitter, while at the same
time uncovering the stolen
article

ur

the subject of conversation. You'll have a chance to show me
what you can do tomorrow. Now, tell me some more about
the wealthy woman you arrested last week. Are you sure
there was no one in your office when you searched her?" he
asked insinuatingly. ‘‘Wasn't there—a young man—an office
boy—or anyone to protect you in case the lady put up a
struggle or beat you?”

I didn’t bat an eyelash—but at that instant the whole put-
up job struck me full in the face. Like a flash I analyzed the
questions he had put to me during the two evenings I had
dined with him—and their object.

H's cleverly worded interrogations had been put in an effort
to make me deviate in some way from the straight story
I had told in court; the least technicality would have been
seized upon and used against me. In coaxingly sympathizing
with me in what he had called my awkward position in being
aligned against a wealthy woman he had attempted to prove
animosity on my part. When he had asked me whether my
employers reprimanded me when I did not make arrests
every day,heattempted to make me seeni guilty of over-zealous-
ness; in asking the woman’s name, he was contriving to trip
me into a libel suit by calling her a thief before the court had
convicted her; the wine, the silk stockings, the jokes- tha!
house—were to build up a disreputable (Continued on page 83)

The FARM of the

Those who are sure they can see through this black
mystery, have their theory. But—are they right?
Did Owen Oberst tell all the truth?

By JERRY E. CRAVEY

Formerly of the Wichita EVENING EAGLE

All photographs are by Myron E. Scott ("Scottie") of the Wichita Evening Eagle

EVEN charred bodies,
S burned beyond recogni-

tion, lay in the Sprinkler

mortuary at Newton,
Kansas, on the morning of
April 21st, 1928, while friends
and relatives searched the
ruins of a farmhouse 20 miles
away for bits of bones, and
for some indication as to the
cause of the fire which snuffed
out the lives of all but one
member of the William F.
Oberst family.

Those burned to death
were: William F. Oberst, a
German farmer, forty-five
years old, head of the Flint
Hill Oberst clan; Mrs. Oberst,
his wife, and mother of the
six Oberst children; Dorothy,
sixteen; Ralph, fourteen;
Hugh, ten; Edith, eight, and
Herbert, six years of age.

Owen Oberst, seventeen-
year-old son and brother of
the seven piles of crackly hu-
man ashes that had been
picked up, bit by bit, from
the débris of the once tidy
farm residence, was the only
member of the family to es-
cape the horrible death that
had visited the Oberst home
early in the evening of April
20th.

Owen had been in the near-
by town of Florence, attend-
ing a moving.picture show,
when the grim reaper, in the
form of the great red demon
fire, had passed over the
Oberst home, snuggled in the
shadows of the Flint Hills of
Kansas, leaving all that was
mortal of the boy's kin buried
beneath a mass of smouldering
ashes. i

The youth returned to the
home of his birth about 10
o'clock at night, headed the
big family automobile in at
the lane which served as an

38

Owen Oberst, posing for the cameraman in the yard of the

Butler County Jail, Kansas. In the hard features of this

17-year-old boy lies one of the grimmest stories of crime that
has ever come to light in police history

approach to the house, and
was met at the last turn in the
lane by a neighboring farmer.

"What's the matter, did
the house burn down?" the
farm boy asked Vernon Kehr,
who resided on a farm three
miles from the Oberst place,
and who had left the scene of
the tragedy and walked a
little way up the lane to meet
the approaching automobile.

“Yes, the house burned
down,” Mr. Kehr replied in
a low, quiet voice that trem-
bled as he spoke those few,
simple words.

Neither spoke again, but
Mr. Kehr climbed on the
running board of the car, and
Owen started the machine in
motion. The car nosed slowly
around the last bend in the
lane, and the headlamps were
trained squarely on the ter-
rible picture. The piercing
rays of the automobile lights
picked up and illuminated the
ghastliest scene that has ever
been witnessed by the people
of Southern Kansas.

I7 was not the quiet and

peaceful farm scene that a
lad of the soil, returning from
the city to a typical Flint Hill
homestead, would beexpecting
to behold. Scores of roughly
clad men and women, and
another score or more of per-
sons only half-clad, were mov-
ing aboutasinadaze. Noise-
lessly they’ moved, almost
ghostlike, flitting here and
there in the dim shadows of
the towering trees that had
provided shade for the Oberst
farmhouse. Inhuman they
must have appeared to young
Owen Oberst—these strange
people who milled in and out
among the weird shadows cast
by the shade trees, and whose

SEVEN CRIMES

Scene on the site of the Oberst home, the morning after the seven charred bodies of the Oberst family were picked up

bit by bit from the shambles, April 21st, 1928.

In the foreground is the stove in which investigators “plan

" an au-

tomatic pistol, to throw the newspaper men off the trail while the case against young Owen Oberst was being completed
by Deputy Fire Marshal McCartney

own shadows were even more weird, because of the lurid red
glow that was cast over them.

Over the heads of the spectators, in lazy spirals, countless
tiny columns of blue-white smoke rose skyward.

O one in the crowd that swarmed and hovered about the
concrete foundation of the wrecked farm residence, in
the center of which unburned ends of boards and supports
glowed and crackled, seemed to be aware of the approach of
the only surviving member of the family that had been
cremated there. Nor did anyone seem to care that the two
powerful automobile headlamps had been trained on them,
and that the rays from the electric lights were penetrating
the semi-darkness into which a hundred pairs of eyes had been
searching—jor something no one dared think of!

Young Oberst brought the car to a halt, opened the door
at his left, and climbed slowly out on to the running board.
He stood there for a moment, taking in the scene before him,
and scanning the sea of faces that now had been turned in his
direction, as it was discovered that the newcomer was none
other than Owen Oberst himself, and that the boy was alone.
Many there had believed—and all had hoped—that the entire
Oberst family had been away from home when the fire started.

The boy's quiet arrival, and the fact that he drove in on
the scene unaccompanied by his parents and brothers and
sisters, started a near-panic. The horrible truth dawned on

the people gathered around the wreckage of the farmhouse,
and left every man and woman in the assembly horror struck.
No one spoke, but all of them stood there in the dim shadows,
staring at Owen Oberst, who, as yet, had not stepped down
from the running board of his father's big touring car.

When Owen Oberst did step to the ground, and started to
advance toward the crowd gathered around the site of what
once had been his home, he did so cautiously—fearfully, it
seemed. There were some there who even described his re-
actions to the discovery of the destruction as dramatic.

The farm lad walked very, very slowly to within five feet
of the pile of smouldering embers, peering with wide open
eyes at that corner of the wreckage which would have been
the location of the kitchen. Still no one spoke to the boy.
Some one walked up behind Owen, on padded feet, and
touched a sagging shoulder ever so gently.

HEN it was that Owen Oberst showed the first sizn of
feeling, and acted as if he was fully aware of what lay
beneath those dying enibers. :

"Oh, my God!" was all that he said. But his voice con-
tained all the despairing sorrow of which any person is capable
of feeling and bearing.

Even the shuffling of padded feet now had stopped, and
tears dimmed the eyes of every man and woman gathered
there beneath the thick foliage of the giant oak, and a hundred

39

40 True Detective Mysteries

heads bowed toward
earth.

One woman fainted; and,
almost at the same time,
the howling of a dog was
heard from another farm,
more than a mile away.
The scene and place were
one for complete sorrow.
The only discordant note
was the grating, rather
gruff voice of Fred Oberst,
brother of William Oberst,
and uncle of Owen. The
brother of the dead man,
who, until now, had min-
gled unnoticed with the
crowd of spectators, walked
clumsily to the side of his
sorrowing nephew, and un-
ceremoniously slapped
Owen on the back, the
smack of the blow resound-
ing in the quiet night.

the

"DYDN'T your poppa

and momma go with

you to town?" Fred Oberst

asked his nephew, abruptly.

Owen did not answer.

but shook his head, and
groaned.

The boy pulled his eyes
away from the funeral
pyre, and walked, with
drooping head, toward the
deeper shadows of the
barn, Fred Oberst fol-
lowed.

In a few moments, the
uncle returned to thé scene
of the tragedy, and in-
formed the horror-stricken
crowd of that of which they
were already aware. Owen
had taken the car that night, and driven to Florence alone,
leaving the rest of the family sitting in the kitchen where their
burned bodies were partially recovered that night.

The scene was transformed immediately, as men and women
began rushing about, not knowing what else to do. A few
had the presence of mind to go to the barn, and secure
shovels, hay forks and rakes, with which to dig in the ashes.

The top layers of the embers were quickly removed, and
the seven bodies uncovered, and left exposed. The charred
things that had been the bodies of seven members of the
William F. Oberst family lay huddled within a space not more
than five feet square, near where the kitchen stove had stood.

“The bodies, they have been found!" an excited farmer in
the crowd muttered in a hoarse whisper. The word was
passed on to those standing farther back in the shadows of
the trees. An old woman, who had attended Mrs. Oberst
when each of the six children was born, clucked loudly.

“Oh, the poor woman, and the children!" she wailed.

EN and women alike pressed more closely together,

grasped at their neighbors' coat or dress sleeves, and
husbands encircled the waists of their wives with trembling
arms,

And children—boys and girls who had attended the public
school with the tots whose souls so recently had flown out of
the blazing farmhouse—might have been seen slinking through
the ashen-faced crowd, seeking the shelter of their parents’
arms.

No one dared touch anything within yards of the seven

Wash drawing of Owen Oberst made by “Scottie” of the
Wichita Evening Eagle shortly after the farm boy made
his sensational confession

horrid heaps lying there in
their beds of smoking ashes,
but the unrecognizable
forms were left as they had
been found, until the under-
taker at Newton could be
summoned.

Owen went to spend the
remainder of the night
with his uncle, who rose
early the next morning, and
accompanied the boy to
Newton, to the undertak-
ing parlors.

HERIFF E. E. Mc-
KNIGHT, of El Do-
rado, seat of Butler
County, Kansas, in which
the Oberst farm was situ-
ated, went to the scene of
the fire the night it hap-
pened, shortly after mid-
night, taking with him the
coroner. After the bodies
of the seven victims of the
blaze had been removed to
Newton the Sheriff and the
coroner returned to El
Dorado, until the next
morning, when an investi-
gation was started.

Mr. Kehr, who met
young Owen Oberst in the
lane that fatal night, was
called in, when it was
learned that he had been
the first to discover the
fire. Mr. Kehr told the
officers of having driven
past the Oberst place, with
his wife, about seven-thirty
o'clock at night, and seeing
the blaze. He drove in at
the lane, and saw that the
fire already had gained such headway as to make it im-
possible to save any of the contents. His first thought was
for the family, and rushing to the garage, he found it contained
only a small run-about, which was used by Mr. Oberst around
the farm. The large car, the one in which Owen returned to
find his parents and brothers and sisters burned to death,
was gone.

This led Mr. Kehr to believe the Oberst family wasaway
from home, as the big car was never used by anyone except
Mr. Oberst himself, and then only on rare occasions.

"We found the kitchen part of the house in flames; there
was nothing to indicate that anyone was home; I hollered as
loud as I could several times, and when I got no answer, and
saw that the car—the big one—the one the family rode in,
was gone, I decided the folks had gone to town. I thought
no more about that, except to feel sorry for Bill, and his wife
and kids, because their home was burning up.

“Then me and my wife drove to a neighbor's, a couple of
miles away, and called to town for help. We then rushed back
to the Oberst place, and found two other men there, who had
been attracted by the blaze. After standing around a while,
with the rest of the crowd that was steadily growing bigger
and bigger, I think I saw Fred Oberst stick his head out of the
barn door, and look toward the burning house.

“In a little while, Fred Oberst came and mingled with the
crowd. He came from the direction of the back of the barn.
When I saw his head sticking out the barn door, he wasin the
front of the barn. I do not think he said anything to anyone
—anyhow, I don't remember hearing him speak to anyone.”

The Farm of the Seven Crimes 41

Further than the foregoing, which is the gist of the story
told by Mr. Kehr, when questioned by Sheriff McKnight and
the coroner, nothing was learned that day that served to shed
any light on the cause of the fire which trapped seven members
of one family in a small kitchen, with two doors leading to the
outside.

The theory that an explosion had caused the fire was ad-
vanced, but was abandoned immediately, when Sheriff Mc-
Knight found that there was nothing in the home that could
have exploded. A kerosene lamp was on the back porch when
Mr. Kehr arrived on the scene, but it was not damaged as it
would have been had it been in use and exploded.

“The house showed no signs of an explosion," Mr. Kehr
told the officers. “If anything had exploded, the windows
would have been blown out, at least. But the whole house
looked all right—except that it was
on fire. The kitchen was like a fur-
nace, but the fire had not caused the
walls to collapse at that time.

“T don’t understand what could
have happened to trap all seven of
them in one room," Mr. Kehr con-
tinued. “It doesn't seem possible
that fire could have blocked all the
exits before they knew it.”

Foul play was suggested, or rather
whispered, by several in the crowd
that returned to the scene of the fire
the next morning to watch the of-
ficers.

The theory of murder, however,
was scouted by Reuben Shimms,
brother-in-law of William Oberst.
Someone mentioned suicide, but this
also was discounted by Mr. Shimms,
Mr. Oberst was well fixed finan-
cially, and in perfect health, Mr.
Shimms explained.

"I SAW him about a week ago,”
the. dead man’s brother-in-law
told the Sheriff. ‘‘He was in fine
spirits then. There was absolutely
nothing wrong, that I know of.

"[ don't think Bill Oberst had
any enemies—of course, we all have
our enemies, but I don't think he
had any that would go to the ex-
treme of killing seven people. In
fact, I’m sure he didn't have any
enemies like that."

An "unofficial" investigator, the
kind of a fellow who is always pres-
ent on such occasions, advanced the
theory, in a loud voice, that the fact
that all the bodies were found hud-
dled together where the kitchen had
been situated was proof that the
Oberst family had been murdered,
and the bodies dragged into the
kitchen.

Mr. Shimms explained away this
theory by saying that all the family sat
in the kitchen each night after supper,
while Mr. Oberst read, and the children
studied their lessons for the next day.

Dorothy, the sixteen-year-old girl, Mr.
Shimms said, was to have taken gradua-
tion exercises on April 21st—the very
day on which the Butler County author-
ities were seeking the cause of the fatal
fire.

At the mortuary, in Newton, all
seven of the bodies were examined for

(Top) Owen Oberst, boy of mys-
tery. (Bottom) Deputy Fire Mar-
shal McCartney. The others are
(upper left) Reverend F. W.

t, (center) L. J. Bond, (up-
per right) E. W. Grant, (lower
left) C. W. Steiger—four of the
eight members of the “‘fact finding
committee"organized to determine
whether McCartney used coercion
in obtaining young Oberst's con-

fession

any possible injuries that might have been inflicted before the
fire. But they were too badly charred, and the examina-
tions were abandoned as hopeless.

WEN OBERST and his uncle appeared at the under-
taking parlors about 9 o'clock the morning aíter the
tragedy. Owen was wearing a new suit of “‘store clothes.”
Fred Oberst, the uncle, walked with a spring in his stride,
despite the fact that his only brother and the latter's entire
family, with the exception of one son, lay in steel caskets in-
side the Sprinkler mortuary, awaiting the word of Fred
Oberst to start making funeral arrangements.
Young Oberst was smoking a cigarette. When he reached
the entrance to the building in which lay all his earthly kin,
he removed the cigarette from his lips with unshaking, sun-

42 True Detective Mysteries

browned fingers, and flipping the weed onto the newly
mown lawn, he strode through the arched doorway with
something of a swagger.

Inside, Owen was conducted into the death-room, where
he walked cautiously, approaching the caskets on tip-toe.
Fred Oberst stopped just outside the room in which the bodies
lay, for a chat with an attendant.

Back at the desolate site of the farmhouse, officers con-
tinued to dig in the ruins, hoping to stumble onto some
clue that would help to solve the mystery of the early eve-
ning fire, in which seyen persons were trapped in a single room.
Nothing was found that would aid the authorities in their
investigation

HE twenty-first of April passed, and another night
settled down over the Flint Hills, and the Oberst farm was
cloaked again in deep shadows—shadows in whose darkness
were hidden the true facts of the mysterious blaze that
twenty-four hours ago had taken such dreadful toll in the
kitchen of the Oberst farmhouse.
April 22nd dawned and ended. Owen and his uncle drove

Friends and relatives of the William F. Oberst family, digging in the debris'of the de-

stroyed farmhouse, searching for some clue to establish the cause of the mysterious fire

in which all but one member of the family of eight were at first thought to have been
trapped as they huddled together in the kitchen

to Newton again to view the charred bodies of the boy’s
parents and brothers and sisters. The Butler County in-
vestigators renewed their digging in the ashes of the farm
home, stopping when the first shades of darkness began to
envelop the specter-ridden place.

On the morning of April 23rd, arrangements were completed
for funeral services for the fire victims. Everything started
off that morning much in the same manner as it had on the
two preceding mornings. Owen and Fred Oberst drove into
town from the latter's farm, and officers from the Sheriff's
oftice at El Dorado started for the Oberst homestead. The
only thing that marked a deviation from the routine of the
two days before was the splitting up of the detachment of
investigators.

Two deputies drove to the ruins of the farmhouse, while
Sheriff McKnight and his undersheriff, Eldon Jarnagin, re-
mained in El Dorado until about noon, when they got into a
car and drove toward Newton.

The Butler County Sheriff and his undersheriff took their
time, arriving in Newton a few minutes before the funeral
cortége was scheduled to start for the Ebenezer Church, near
the Oberst farm, where the Obersts had worshipped.

Sheriff McKnight headed his car in at the side of the
mortuary, and joined the long line of automobiles which
formed the funeral procession. His car was directly back of
the mourners' car, in which young Oberst and his uncle rode
to the Ebenezer Church. The bodies were laid to rest in the
churchyard shortly after four o'clock that afternoon.

AFTER the services, when the people who had attended the

last rites of the William F. Oberst family had started for
their homes, Sheriff McKnight approached Owen Oberst,
standing at the side of the grave in which the steel caskets
had just been lowered, and in quiet, gentle tones, informed
the boy that he might ride on over to the farm in his (the
Sheriff's) car.

Enroute to the William Oberst farm, Sheriff McKnight
drove in at the home of Fred Oberst, who had preceded the
officers and his nephew away from the cemetery. Here the
Sheriff's party was joined by
County Prosecutor Stanley
Taylor of El Dorado, and a
newspaper reporter from
Wichita, who had followed
the Fred Oberst car when it
was driven away from the
Ebenezer churchyard.

THE entire party, in which
Owen was included, drove
to the ruins of the boy's home.
Sheriff McKnight drove up to
within a few inches of the
concrete foundation of the
house; stopping his car at a
point from which everyone in
the machine had an unob-
structed view of the débris.

Four pairs of eyes were
watching the face of Owen
Oberst. But whatever it
might have been that the
investigators had expected
to see registered in the mirror
of Owen Oberst's face either
failed to register at all, or
escaped the close scrutiny of
the Sheriff, his undersheriff
and the Butler County prose-
cutor.

The sole -survivor of the
grim tragedy of three nights
before sat there in the rear
seat of the Sheriff's car, un-
moved. His face was solid granite. His lips formed a straight
line over two rows of even, white teeth, showing no emotion
whatever. Not the slightest movement could be detected in
young Oberst's lids, and his eyes gazed straight ahead, and
they contained no fear.

Prosecutor Stanley Taylor and Sheriff McKnight had
pinned a lot of hope on this particular occasion. They had
expected immediate results from this surprise they were
springing on Owen Oberst, making the boy return to the spot
where the finger of death had been laid on all that he held
dear. And because the El Dorado investigators had staked
the few meager clues they had been able to unearth on the
expected reactions of Owen to the sight of the recent crema-
tory, the youth's failure to “act up” was perhaps the most
stunning blow they were to receive during the drawn-out
investigation of which this was the beginning.

Mr. Taylor and Sheriff McKnight, already with the feeling
of defeat strong in their minds, gor out of the car, and ordering

The Farm of the Seven Crimes

Owen to follow, walked to a far corner of the farm, where they
grilled the farm lad for an hour.

Owen repeated, almost word for word, the story he already
had told his uncle, of his whereabouts on the night of the fire.
He had taken the family automobile, he said, some time before
six o'clock, driving to Florence, where he attended a movie,
in company with another youth.

Owen was released, and returned to the home of his uncle.

THAT night, in the office of Prosecutor Taylor in the

Butler County courthouse at El Dorado, a council of
war was held. Each of the officers who had been assigned
to run down clues in the mysterious blaze at the farmhouse
reiterated his findings, in the presence of the County At-
torney and the Sheriff.

One officer reported having found a .22 caliber automatic
pistol in the kitchen stove, all seven shots in the magazine
showing every sign of having been discharged by the plunger
of the gun.

Another officer told of finding the barrel and metal parts
of a .22 caliber repeating rifle in one corner of the kitchen,
and a third investigator gave
a detailed account of having
traced Owen on the eve-
ning of the fire to a cloth-
ing store, where the boy
purchased the suit he had
worn on his first visit to the
undertaking parlors in New-
ton.

Still another deputy re-
ported having learned at a
farmhouse near the Oberst
home that Owen had been
seen leaving the farm just
at dark, which would have
been around 7 o'clock.

At, seven-thirty that eve-
ning, the fire was discovered
by Mr. Kehr.

Prosecutor Taylor reviewed
the evidence at hand, and
muttered under his breath.

“TF that won't make a case, I
never heard oí a case,"
the prosecutor said.

Sheriff Mc Knight ad-
mitted the evidence looked
clear to him.

'et the authorities hesi-
tated to take any action
that would cause the ad-
ministration embarrassment,
should the case against young
Oberst fall through. It was generally agreed that the
evidence against the boy was sufficient to warrant charges,
but it was likewise agreed that should they fail to con-
vict, the primary election in July probably would
leave the present administration rooting for new candi-
dates. i

For very good reasons, then, Prosecutor Stanley Taylor
and Sherif E. E. McKnight, having heard much of the
efficient manner in which a certain W. J. McCartney, of the
State Fire Marshal's office at Topeka, conducted investiga-
jona into the causes of Kansas fires, called upon McCartney
or aid.

Deputy Fire Marshal McCartney arrived in El Dorado
on the morning of April 25th. He received written
reports from the various officers who had worked on
the Oberst case, and put in all that day talking to
acquaintances of the Oberst family—about everything except
the fire.

Late in the afternoon of April 27th, McCartney, who in-

43

variably has a large following of newspapermen from the
time he starts to work on a case, until the case is handed to
the prosecuting attorney for disposition'in the courts, called his
"staff" of scribes in, and announced that he had at last solved
the mystery! Some of the reporters winked slyly at one another
at this sudden outburst of generosity by the closest-lipped man
in Kansas,especially when they recalled the pistol found in
the kitchen stove, and the wrong steer it had given them.

“McCartney giving out a story before an arrest is made?
Ridiculous!' Those in the “know” scoffed at the idea.

But when the Deputy Fire Marshal started talking, those
same reporters listened. And they wrote the story.

CCARTNEY began by saying Owen Oberst had been

exonerated in connection with the holocaust. The boy
was to be exempted from further examination, the Topeka
investigator said.

McCartney had learned that William F. Oberst had won
heavily in a gambling game at Florence on the day of the
tragedy, and that foot-prints had been found leading away
from the farmhouse to a clump of trees near the barn. In the

Another view of the ruins, showing neighbors looking on the scene of the ghastly crime
in stunned silence

clump of trees, McCartney declared, were found several shot-
gun shells, all of which had been fired in a gun.

So this was the solution to the mysterious septuple tragedy
at the Oberst farm home! Some man who had been trimmed
by Oberst in a gambling game had sought revenge by murder-
ing the entire family.

The Deputy Fire Marshal further declared that he had in-
formation that a car was seen to drive away from the Oberst
farm a few minutes before the house broke into flames.

McCartney’s “solution” to the grisly affair at the farm made
a good newspaper story—for one day! The next day there
was nothing for the reporters to write about. McCartney
could not be located, and Sheriff McKnight had no new lead
on the case. Several more days passed in the same manner,
with staff correspondents from the large dailies at Wichita
and Kansas City, Missouri, loafing about the streets of the
bustling little oil town of El Dorado. They were always
found grouped together, either in a pool hall or in the Sheriff's
office. When one reporter would only (Continued on page 94)

The ST.
Gang Rule

TERROR

By
RAY RENARD

As told to
HARRY T. BRUNDIGE

FOREWORD

RAY RENARD, alias “The Fox,”
marked for death by former gangster asso-
ciates, has been a purse-snatcher, shoplifter,
freight thief, payroll-bandit, bank-robber,
unman, gangster, and the lieutenant of
Villiam P. (Dint) Colbeck, leader of the
Egan gang.

It was Renard who, breaking with the
gang and discarding the code of silence of his
one-time pals, took the witness stand in
Federal court on three occasions and, with
coolness and deliberation, testified to the facts that sent eight of his
former associates to Leavenworth Penitentiary, five of them being
Egan gangsters who received sentences totaling forty years.

Renard is the sleek, well-groomed type of criminal, who, when
free, drives about in a high-powered automobile. He owned a sub-
urban bungdlow which was beautifully appointed and his kennel of
dogs was the envy of his fellows.

Arrested 138 times, he has been accused of almost every crime
on the statute-books, including murder. His career stamps him
as one of the most desperate law-breakers of modern police history.

He is now serving a sentence of seven years in Atlanta Peni-
tentiary for an old crime—the theft of merchandise from an inter-
state shipment.

Why did Renard testify against his pals? Why did he tell the
story of hiscrime? He answered these two questions in this language:

“Gangsters, like other men, have a e of ethics and the code
of the gang is to die game, with the mouth shut, even if your most
hated enemy puts the fatal slug in you. Don't talk to anybody—
that's the code and the law.

"Of those who die with their mouths shut, gangsters, and the
youths who foolishly admire them, say: ‘He was a man!’

“I have another point of view. Any man can die with his mouth
shut because he knows that talking won't stop the flow of blood,
or heal the wound. In my opinion it takes a real man to talk, to
tell what he knows; especially when he knows that, by talking, he
will be branded as a snitch, become an outcast and go about with a
price on his head to the end—an end that will besudden and violent.

“That is why I talked and why I am still talking—to prove to the
gang that I am a better man than any of them. That, coupled with
the fact that, in these last few months, I have been thinking more
and more about the good things I learned from old Father Kister
and Sister Agnes when I was a little boy.

“I'm only twenty-five now, and when I have discharged my debt
to Society, if I'm not suddenly shot in the back, I’m going to
follow the straight and narrow path, even if I have to take up where
| left off nine years ago, driving a coal wagon.”

NE small offense against the Law, a petty theft for

Q which I could have been sent to the workhouse.

started me on a career of crime which was to include

purse-snatching, shoplifting, hi-jacking, freight thefts,

and bank and payroll robberies, and which was to make of me
a notorious crook and gangster with a price on my head.

+

LOUIS

“Come on,
kid—we're
in a hurry!’

St. Louis is my home; I was born there 25 years ago. When
I was nine years old my father died, and my mother was left
destitute with four children, three of them girls, all younger
than I. Mother went to work; my sisters and I went to live
in an orphanage.

At the age of 13 I was determined to help my mother.
I left St. Joseph's School and got a job at the Peters Shoe
Factory at Twelfth and North Market Streets. I got along
fine there and I made up my mind to learn the shoe trade. I
was proud of my pay envelope and carried it to my mother
unopened. Then one day a man came in, showed me a badge
on his vest and said: “Say, kid, how old are you?" I told him
I was r3. The big guy grinned.

“(CAUGHT you, didn't I?" he said. “Now get your hat
and your dough and beat it out of here—you're too young
to work.”

He was a factory inspector.

A lot of good it did him to pry me loose from my job and
my ambitions. I was going to help my mother, regardless, so
I began selling newspapers and kept at that until I was 14,
at which time I got a permit to work and started at the
Wiggins-Terminal as a messenger-boy.

I was a pretty good sort of a kid in those days and | gave
all my money to my mother and stuck with that job for nearly
two years. Then I went to work for the Grand-Leader Store
as a wagon-boy. From chasing bundles I went to making
boxes at the Columbia Box Factory, but that didn't last long
and after looking for work I got a job driving a coal-wagon
for the yard.at Fifteenth and Benton Streets.

Many times since, I have regretted quitting my job at the
Grand-Leader Store. If I had stayed there, things might
have turned out differently.

Driving a coal-wagon was pretty dull work. One day, while
standing around the yard waiting for a load of coal, I met

N? publication should undertake to print Renard’s cold-blooded confession of criminal life,

but for the grim lesson it teaches—better than any sermon ever could.

It is with this in

mind that it is being presented in TRUE DETECTIVE MYSTERIES—a cold, heartless record of
violent deeds, not for the youth of our country to admire, but to abhor, knowing these acts must
inevitably and always lead to ignominy, long imprisonment back of gray prison walls—or death

Ernest Miller. He nodded tome.
*Whatcha' doing?” he asked.
“Nothing.”

"Wanna go fishing?"
"Sure."
"Well, let's go dig some bait.”

THAT little conversation was my
undoing. Miller was the first crook
I met, to my knowledge. And soon
thereafter 1 was to become a
thief, à man marked by the po-
lice for arrest on sight. Miller
was to become my crime tutor,
like Fagin, the old guy in
Charles Dickens' story, Oliver
Twist, who taught the kids to
steal. Of course, I didn't think
about those things then, and I
haven't any grudge against
Miller, I like him.
He's a square guy.

Well, Miller said we
would go out to Wal-
nut Park to dig the
bait, so we got on a
Bellefontaine street-
car and started. And
it was in that street-
car that I committed
my first crime.

Miller took a seat next to the window and I sat next to the
aisle. Miller was like that—he always took the best of
everything. Somewhere out in North St. Louis the car
stopped and a woman across the aisle got up and left the car.
She left her pocketbook in the seat and Miller saw it at once.

"Grab that poke, kid," he whispered, and gave me a healthy
shove that almost knocked me across the aisle. I sat down
on the purse and looked over to Miller to see what I was to do
next. He signaled for me to put it in my pocket. I stashed
it, and we got off the car. We took another car and rode on
out to Walnut Park where we frisked the pocketbook. It
contained $3.55 and a key, and a gas-bill made out to a
woman who lived on John Avenue.

I wish I knew who the woman was.
back the $3.55.

The next day Miller told me he had bought an automobile.
"Say, kid," he said, ‘‘can you drive it?" I had never driven
an automobile, but I had seen other persons drive, so I told
him I could. “All right, you're my chauffeur," he announced.
I drove the car and Miller around all that day and most of
the night.

The next day Miller looked at me and said: “Say, you're
a bright kid, but you look like a tramp." He asked me if I
would like to have nice clothes like he had. I told him I
would.

"All right," he said, "you come along with me and I'll
show you a good racket. I'll let you see me do my stuff."

We went downtown and, within an hour, I was getting my
first lessons in shoplifting. We went into one of the big
stores and went to the silk shirt counter. Miller examined
the shirts, talked to the clerk and kept stuffing shirts under
my coat. I kept getting fatter and fatter. Then we moved
on and he picked up some socks and neckties.

When we got home I found that all the shirts and socks

I'd like to give her

"What does were his size—that
ác ot none of them would

fit me!

Then J got smart.
I went back downtown
and loaded up on stuff
that would fit me.
Miller slapped me on
the back when I re-
turned. "You'll do,
kid!” he exclaimed, `
and I was proud of
his compliment.

I had everything I
needed in the way of
clothing, excepting a
suit, so Miller prom-
ised to go downtown
with me and help me
steal enough stuff to
buy me a suit. We
stole shirts, sold them
to a fence, and the
next day I bought a
swell suit of clothes.

Shoplifting was a
good racket and, be-

,'" tween the two of us,

we stole enough stuff

to make a pretty good living. I was giving

my money to my mother, telling her that I

was working for Miller as his chauffeur. We gave up operat-

ing in the big stores because of the house detectives, and

started working on the little fellows out in the residence
sections.

We would walk into one of the small shops and ask to see a
cap. The proprietor would show us all the caps he had and,
after we had figured out what kind of a cap he didn't have,
we would ask for that. Of course, he couldn't produce, so
we would give up and ask to see silk shirts. We'd work the
same trick on the shirts and finally leave after buying a couple
of handkerchiefs. We usually walked out with six or eight
caps and a half dozen shirts which we had stashed away when
he wasn't looking. Sometimes we would be so loaded we
would be afraid to walk out of the store for fear something
would fall from under our coats.

eres becoming an expert shoplifter I went after bigger
stufí—suits, coats, furs and such things. One of the places
that I used to steal from, all of the time, was the Monroe
Clothes Shop. In those days they had a store with handy
windows, near the clothes-racks, that opened on an alley.
I would go in there, pick out a suit and, while the clerk was
going after the tailor to mark the alterations, I would drop
a couple of suits out of the window into the arms of the
waiting Miller. We never had any trouble in getting rid of
our stuff and usually got a good price for it.

When shoplifting wasn't so good we worked another racket
—the stealing of spare tires from parked automobiles. We
never took any tires except those that were not locked on.
It's funny about people; they never think of putting a lock
and chain around a spare tire until they have had one lifted.
We got scores of tires without much trouble, and we usually
sold them to persons who owned cars the tires would fit.

Right here let me say that, if (Continued on page 108)

45

—

Detective Lieutenant Al Corsini, who handled the Binetti
case, and saw its shocking end

the personnel of the Los Angeles Homicide Squad
working night and day during the first week in August,
1928.

At midnight on August 7th, I had just fallen into a sorely
needed sleep when I was aroused by the insistent ringing of
my bedside telephone.

"Hello!" I bellowed, wrathfully.

“Corsini?”

I recognized the night operator's crisp tones, and admitted
my identity,

“There's been another murder committed in the Italian
quarter. Inspector Parsons is sending „the squad car out
foryou. You're to pick up Captain Condaffer and Lieutenant
Hickey on the way down. Squad driver'll take you to the
place."

"Hell!" I said.

"Sir?"

“I said I'd be ready.”

Growling at my luck, I stumbled into my clothes. Before
ten minutes had passed, the spotlight of the police-car flashed
on my windows, and I hurried out to join the wide-awake and
voluble driver. We stopped for Captain Condaffer and
Lieutenant Hickey, and, fifteen minutes later, reached the
scene of the crime.

It proved to be a frame house at 767 New Depot Street, in
the heart of the Italian quarter.

Elbowing our way through a crowd of excited and fright-
ened people, we entered the dwelling.

In the rear bedroom, a ghastly sight met our eyes. On the
floor beside the bed, and in a pool of blood, was the lifeless
body of an Italian man, clad only in a shirt His left hand
still clutched the blood-soaked bed clothing; the right hung
limply at his side. Two hideous, gaping wounds in the
abdomen were the obvious cause of his death.

Gees baffling murders in rapid succession had kept

46

How Guilty

Ho ucciso per vendicare
il mio onore... per il
mio onore muoio! (“I
have killed to avenge my
honor... for my honor I
am dying") Back of
those tragic words lies
the pitiful story of Mary
Binetti

On the bed, the dead man's wife lay moaning faintly,
her black hair matted to her forehead. It was evident,
from a hurried examination, that the man had been
shot as he lay at her side, and part of a charge of buck-
shot had ricocheted from his body, through her right
temple.

A moment later, the muted siren of the ambulance
was heard, and Captain Condaffer ordered the un-
conscious woman to the hospital.

He then swung around and addressed the white-faced,
gaping knot of men and women crowded in the doorway.

"Anyone here know anything about this?"

Instantly an unintelligible clamor broke out, as a
dozen voices began excitedly explaining in Italian. Captain
Condaffer turned to me.

"Here, Corsini, you savvy the language.
they're talking about."
In Italian, I inquired who lived in the house.

Find out what

WOMAN, about thirty-five years old, but retaining

many traces of an olive-skinned, voluptuous beauty,
detached herself from the group, sweeping a mass of wavy,
black hair back from her forehead with a hand that seemed
to tremble slightly.

“I live here,” she said, lifting a pair of melting, brown eyes,
suffused with tears, to mine. “I spik Inglis.”

"What is your name?" I asked, looking at her closely.

“Mary Binetti.”

“What is your relation to this man, if any, and tell me just
what happened here tonight.”

“This man... my cousin, Guy Binetti. I live with him
and his wife—Concetta.''

“This man is Guy Binetti?" I pointed to the gruesome
figure on the floor.

"Yes. His real name Gaetano Binetti . . . we call him
Guy. Few minutes ago, I wake and see man standing over
my bed. He had—what you call?—flashlight in his hand.
He say, ‘Keep quiet,’ and show me a police badge.”

There was a slight tremor in the woman's voice, but she
kept her eyes fixed steadily on mine. “Then he call some
other American persons to come in. They come—threc
men—they all spik Inglis. They go in middle room and
pull things out of dresser . . . then I hear two shots—Boom!

Boom! | start to get up. Then men in my room say,
‘Come on . . . le's go! They all leave. I run in Guy's
room and find—oh . .. " Her words ended in a piercing

wail, and she seemed on the verge of collapse.
"Get her some water," I ordered, and a half-dozen women

Was Mary Binetti?

By Detective Lieutenant AL CORSINI,
As told to M. K. HANNAH

hurried to do my bidding, bringing some from the kitchen.

"He was killed with this." As he spoke, Lieutenant
Jerry Hickey indicated a double-barreled hammerless 12-
gauge shotgun lying on the floor a few feet from Binetti's
body.

Taking care not to disturb possible finger-prints, we made
a brief examination of the weapon. It contained two dis-
charged shells, and bore an odor of having been recently
fired.

“Whose gun is this?" I put the question quietly to Mary
Binetti, who, by that time, had partly regained her com-
posure.

"Guy's..." she whispered. “Wait... I tell youall..."
Again her gaze was riveted on my face, this time with a
noticeable intensity. “Long time ago—maybe last March—
four men come see Guy—two Japanese and two Americans.
The Americans show police badges and say Guy, he steal some
liquor. Guy say no, and American say, 'You bringa back
liquor by tomorrow night, or we killa you.' I think these
are same people come here tonight . . . same voice... and
murder Guy and Concetta.” The unwavering gaze fell, but
she repeated, "I think same people."

Captain Condaffer hastily made a note of this important
bit of information. Then: y

"Find a phone somewhere, Hickey," he ordered. ‘‘Call
Driver, the photographer, and have him take three or four
shots of this body. Then call the wagon and have it taken
to the morgue.”

At the same time, Mary Binetti col-
lected her two children and fled to the
home of a neighbor to spend the re-
mainder of the night.

“Get rid of these people, Corsini,”
boomed Condaffer, “but first, tell 'em
if anyone touches anything in this
house, thev'll be tried for murder."

OS ANGELES’ "Little Italy'"—a
city within a city—has its own un-
authorized courts of justice where swift
and summary punishment is meted out
to those who violate its unwritten
laws.

Hi-jackers and ambitious bootleggers
who rashly encroach upon previously
staked territory, are disposed of by the
simple expedient of a compulsory
night-ride. On the following morning
a rigid body is found on the outskirts of
the city, with an accurately placed
bullet-hole neatly drilled through the
heart. . . . But dead men tell no tales,
and the most patient and intensive
police investigation seldom reveals
more than the fact that "'another
Italian murder” has been added to the
list of unsolved mysteries.

A series of these “unsolved crimes"
in rapid succession during June and
July, 1928, had resulted in Chief of
Detectives Herman H. Cline issuing
orders for every man on our Squad to
remain on duty until the killers were
identified and apprehended.

Acting Captain Frank Condaffer—temporarily in com-
mand of the Homicide Squad during the absence of his
chief, Captain James F. Bean—was determined that the
perpetrators of this latest wanton murder should not go
unpunished.

THE first reports in the case, with Mary Binetti's state-
ment to the effect that four men—two of whom had
displayed police badges—invaded her cousin's home and
shot him as he lay asleep beside his wife, appeared to place
the crime definitely in the category of the several other
liquor-war murders lately committed in that same district
Indications were that the officers who had failed to make
Guy Binetti return, or pay for, liquor alleged to have been
hi-jacked from certain persons, had either slain Binetti
themselves, or instigated his murder. At least, so it seemed.

The matter as-
sumed an ominous
aspect when a check-
up of Mary Binetti's
statement regarding
the officers who had
visited Guy several
months before, im-
plicated two patrol-
men discharged from
the Department dur-

(Above)
Mary Binetti

(Left) Win-
dow of the
bedroom
where the
crime was
committed

w 295777
Pg Ne 0 By DRIVER

48

ing the month of April, 1928, for alleged participation in
bootlegging activities.

Within an hour, we had the two ex-officers in custody.

They promptly admitted having interviewed Guy Binetti.

in March, but declared that they, together with two Japanese
truck-gardeners from whose garage a large quantity of liquor
had been stolen, had satisfied themselves that Binetti was not
the guilty party. They emphatically denied all knowledge
of, or participation in, the murder.

When confronted with Mary Binetti for identification, she
stated, after some hesitation, that the man who had first
wakened her, had held the flashlight in his hand—its rays
focused on her face—while he was in the dark. For this
reason, she could not positively identify either man, although

she declared that the voice of one of the ex-officers sounded
familiar.

EANWHILE, in view of their known affiliation with

members of the bootlegging fraternity since their dis-
missal from the Department, the two discharged patrolmen,
together with the two Japanese truck-gardeners, were finger-
printed and held for investigation, pending the findings of
Finger-print Expert Howard L. Barlow.

We did not wait long. After interrogating the ex-officers
and the two terrified Japanese, Lieutenant Hickey and I re-
turned to the Binetti home and again questioned Mary, while
her sister and a woman neighbor sat in an adjoining room.

As an officer, I had perforce become wise in the ways of my
countrywomen. Almost from the first, I believed Mary
Binetti knew more about her cousin's death than she had

revealed. Questionable as the reputations of the men she
tentatively ac-

cused might be,
it seemed doubt-
ful that they were
implicated in this
crude slaughter.
On theother hand,
there was the pos-
sibility that Mary
was attempting to
shield another
person .

However, I got
nowhere with my
interrogation.
She reiterated her
first story, though
she was, appar-
ently, more nerv-
ous than on the
previous night.
Once or twice it
seemed that she
was about to say
something more,
as I had obviously
succeeded in win-
ning her confi-
dence by a friendly
and sympathetic
attitude, but in
each case she glanced timidly at my partner, and lapsed into
silence.

Lieutenant Jerry Hickey is a rotund, ruddy-faced son of
Erin, with the kindest heart in the world, but to Mary Binetti
he was, nevertheless, a foreigner, and her lips remained
sealed.

Finally, it was necessary that we return to Headquarters.
I resolved to return later, alone, and question Mary once
inore, after learning Sergeant Barlow's finger-print findings.

At the station, we found awaiting us an urgent message

from Barlow to see him at once. We lost no time in
doing so.

(Left) Lieutenant Corsini is discussing details of the Binetti case with Detective
Lieutenant Jerry Hickey (right) who worked with him on the case. (Center)
Harry Swenson, official recorder of the Homicide Squad

True Detective Mysteries

He told us that he had gone to 767 New Depot Street the
first thing that morning, and had made numerous photo-
graphs of prints found on doors, window-casements and
various articles of furniture; he had also taken a palm-print
from the butt of the shotgun.

An hour or two later, when the prints had been developed,
he returned to the Binetti house and sent for Mary, who was
still the guest of a friendly neighbor, and took prints of her
palms and fingers. He vividly recalled the appearance of
the developed prints in his office, and, at first sight of Mary's
own impressions, felt certain they tallied with those taken
from the gun.

I recalled that Mary had said nothing of Barlow's visit . . .
also her unusual nervousness. More tlian ever convinced
that she was not entirely in the clear in the matter of Guy
Binetti's murder, I went at once to the house, where I found
her.

She drooped forlornly in a chair, red-eyed from weeping.
For a few minutes, I chatted with her, until all trace of nerv-
ousness over my unexpected return had vanished. Then,
leaning toward her abruptly, I said softly:

“ Mary, how does it-happen that your finger-prints appear on
the shotgun that was used to kill your cousin?"

She drew back as though dodging a blow, her face suddenly
bloodless.

"My fingers . . ." she stammered. Then, with a flash
of white teeth, she essayed a tremulous smile. “Why, right
after it happen, I ‘scream . . . neighbors come in... I

pick up gun . . . show how they kill Guy——"

"Show me, will you, Mary?" I said, kindly. “Just how did
you pick it up?" I walked to the kitchen and returned with a
broom. "'Pretend
this is the gun.
Show me how you
picked it up."

She grasped the
broom-handle
with both hands,
extended it hori-
zontally, then let
it fall to the floor.

"Like that!”
she breathed.

“BUT: Mary,

s $5 your
finger-prints are
on the stock of
the gun . . . and
on the trigger...
look! As ij you
held it like this!"
I seized the broom
and aimed it, as
if it were indeed
the shotgun!

A piercing
scream rent the
air and Mary Bi-
netti collapsed in
her chair, half
fainting.

I ran to her side, placed my hand on her trembling arm.

“Now, Mary," I said steadily, "try to calm yourself. I’m
just asking you questions so I can get at the bottom of this

DATOS REP ug

Visa i

thing. I'm not accusing you, and if you didn't do it, you've
nothing to worry about . . You mustn't carry on like
this."

She began to sob and moan hysterically, and it was several
minutes before I was able to quiet her.

"Put on your hat, Mary," I finally said. ''Let's go into
the station, where you can tell your story to the Captain."
The anguish in the eyes she swiftly raised to mine was inde-
scribable. “No harm can come to (Continued on page 72)

TRACKED Through

I caught the
moans of a
With gun held
ready, I turn-
ed the knob
softly

CHINATOWN

“No yellow crook is going to ruin
little Josie!" swore Detective Hoyos
when Len Tang, notorious Chinatown
gunman, offered ten thousand dollars
for the beautiful white girl he coveted.
But—did Hoyos make good his word?

the middle of October, 1924, and continued with re-

lentless fury well into January of the next year. The

On Leong and the Hip Sing Tongs were the opposing
factions, the latter being assisted by some of the smaller or-
ganizations with which it was affiliated.

New York City's Chinatown, where the first murders oc-
curred, was the principal battle ground. But there were
assassinations in many other big cities as far south as New
Orleans and west to San Francisco.

In New York alone the police learned of twenty-three
Chinese who were sent before the Seven Celestial Judges
by the yellow gunmen and. bravos—hacked to death with
hatchets and knives, or riddled with steel messengers from
long-barrel .44's. In other cities the murdered Orientals
numbered about twenty-five. The exact number of those
who died in this ghastly feud of transplanted Asiatics never
will be known, for many of the more than §0 seriously wounded
probably passed to the Purple Paradise without the authorities
being notified!

The police—who made many futile arrests but were unable
to end the slaughter until the battling tongs, for reasons of

Te bloodiest tong war in the United States began in

By HERMAN Hoyos

former Secret Service Operative

their own, signed “another truce"—hazarded many guesses
as to the cause of the sanguinary struggle. Some suggested
the war started over a division of the profits from gambling or
opium sales. Others that the On Léongs were angry because
the Hip Sings had invaded their trade territory. Still others,
that certain On Leong officials, after stealing from the Society's
treasury, had gone over to the Hip Sings, paying a large
sum in cash for protection. These latter had hit upon a por-
tion of the truth—but very far from all of it.

In the following story I shall tell, for the first time, the real
facts concerning the actual causes which led to the most
ruthless of the wars which the On Leong Tong had waged
interfhittently for 30 years—ever since setting itself up in
Manhattan’s Chinatown as the "élite" Oriental organization
of Eastern America. These causes included not only theft
of tong funds, but forgery, broken fraternal oaths, the
scrapping of a “blood contract" between the Leongs and the
Hip Sings, and—of course—a woman—a white woman; and
the determination of a saffron-hued absconder to possess her,
to wrest her from another Oriental who was protecting her.

My interest in the case began toward the end of March,
1924. I had just returned to Washington after many months
of Secret Service work against the coolie and opium smugglers
along the Mexican border, and was a bit rusty concerning
affairs among the lemon-skinned gentry of the North. How-
ever, my attention was attracted immediately by a newspaper
despatch from New York which began:

That Chinatown is on the verge of another serious
outbreak became known today when Captain Calvin
ordered the police of the quarter to be on their guard.
It is said the impending trouble is the outgrowth of the
recent On Leong Tong election, and that the cham-
pions of the hatchet and the long-barrels are about to
resume operations.

“No t'loubee, no f'lite—all same fli clackee—
make big noise, no hurt," grinned Wing Lee, an
official of the On Leongs, when interviewed this
morning. The public can use its own judgment
whether any credence can be placed in this state-
ment.

There followed many paragraphs concerning former tong
wars, of which I probably knew far more than did the writer.
The thing which set me thinking hard was the statement

49

50

that a Leong election was likely to cause an outbreak. An
election was an internal affair. It would lead to hostilities
only if the former officials had been ousted for some serious
offense and had deserted to the Hip Sings. In such circum-
stances there probably would be bloodshed. I put aside the
newspaper with a feeling of regret, for I longed to go to New
York and obtain the “low down” on the situation for myself,
rather than hang about Washington waiting for an assign-
ment to go to some remote place where a new ring was
smuggling in "chandau" or some of Canton's human scum.

WO days later my wish to go to New York received

additional impetus when I sat down to my morning
coffee and newspaper. On the front page was a story from
Manhattan which stated that, shortly after midnight, Yet
Wung, a waiter in a small restaurant in Pell Street, New York
City, was shot to death while alone in the dining room. Five
men were seen running from the place, but street loiterers
differed as to whether they were whites or Chinese. No
arrests had been made. As a result a double guard of police
was patrolling the quarter—most of the native population
had taken to their burrows, and some of the merchants had
announced they would not open their places next
day. One of the few things learned about Yet Wung
was that he was a member of the Hip Sings. The
police had announced they believed the murder was
the result of an attempted robbery, though
they admitted the killers did not disturb
nearly $200 lying in the cash drawer.

The report made me angry. The killing
an attempt at robbery? Bah! The trouble
was not a quarrel within the Leongs’ ranks.
A Hip Sing had been killed in cold blood.
My guess was by a Leong, or a hired gun-
man. The natives, particularly the mer-
chants, the big moneyed men, knew a tong
war had begun. Everything confirmed my
previous suspicion, that much bloodshed
was to be expected.

Leaving my home, I started for Head-
quarters afoot, hoping to walk off some of
my grouch. I had reached the intersection
of E and Ninth Streets when I all but
bumped into Chong-Poy-Lok, the venerable
washee-washee who had attended to my
laundry, whenever I was in Washington,
ever since I had joined the Secret Service.
Old Lok, whose parchment-like skin was
as wrinkled as a mummy's, and in whose
gray-green eyes one seemed to read the wis-
dom of the centuries, was worthy of any-
one’s attention. For many decades he had
been collecting and delivering wash, except
in the rare intervals when he was ill.

But I happened to know things which
other white men did not. That he was ex-
tremely wealthy, with considerable money
invested in American properties. And that
he was so powerful that he frequently was
summoned into consultation by the Chinese
officials in Washington. I also suspected he
knew more about me than did most people, though he had
never dropped a hint of this in our friendly conversations.
His sudden appearance gave me a hunch.

After an exchange of grips and greetings—his lined face
aglow with pleasure at meeting me—he inquired if I still
had my quarters "top-side Mis’ Blackee house" and wanted
him to stop for my washec. Receiving an affirmative reply
he was about to pass on, but I drew him close to a building,
out of ear-shot of passers-by.

"Listen carefully, Chong-Poy-Lok, and answer truthfully.
I have a reason for wanting to know. What is the meaning
of what has happened in New York?"

His features suddenly froze into an expression of utter

True Detective Mysteries

emptiness, but his little eyes became black and gleaming.
“No savee," he shrugged.

“All right, my friend, it doesn't matter. However, I have
business there, in Chinatown. If there should be trouble, if
I am injured——"'

He gripped my wrist and I noted the hiss of intaken breath.
Then, in quick, short sentences, low spoken but intense, he
told me that he loved me as a son, appreciated my efforts
to help the good men of his race in America—his first slip
that he knew aught of my professional duties—and begged
me not to go near New York's Chinatown until he gave the
word. He said much might happen there within one, two
or more turns of the moon, but no white man would be invol-
ved or harmed—unless he interfered. Any such would be
killed. Then he hastened away, no doubt fearful lest spies
might see him talking to me; a circumstance certain to bring
death as surely and swiftly as though he uttered the name
of Confucius in blasphemy, if said spies suspected me of
being a “lo fung,” which I was, from the Chinese viewpoint.

ITHIN the hour I had ex-
plained to my chief why I de-
sired to go to New York at once.
obtained an indefinite leave of ab-
sence and purchased my ticket and
Pullman reservation. I carried only

a grip with a change of clothing,

knowing I had sufficient disguises

at my Manhattan hidcout near the
Chinatown quarter in case an emer-
gency required that I alter my ap-
pearance.

I paced the platform, smoking, unul
just before the train pulled out and was
in my Pullman car chair before I noted
that, in the one directly opposite, was
huddled a sríall Chinese in western
garb, his head resting upon his hand
so as to conceal his features. Two
queries came to my mind. Was I
being trailed or had old Lok, not
satisfied I would take his warning,
sent this Oriental along to watch over
me? I thought I had the answer when,
after pretending to take no note of my
neighbor, I studied him írom over
the top of my newspaper. As he drew
down his hand I recognized him. He
was an employe of Lok.
He had once been to my
rooms to deliver laundry.
I had trained myself to
remember Oriental faces
and knew I was not mis-
taken.

IF he were watching me—

or Lok was sending him
to New York on an errand
—he must be his Number
One boy and therefore
capable. I dropped my paper to see what he would do. As
I had anticipated, he made no sign of recognition. After a
time I began to doubt if he knew me. Then I noticed that
the eyes behind his slanted lids betrayed fear, and that he '
glanced through the car frequently, now and then wiping
glistening drops of perspiration from his forehead. Clearly
he was laboring under great excitement. Then a new idea
came to me; that he might be stealing north to betray his
employer; that he had seen us talking and actually was
following me.

I let my fingers slip over the bulge in my coat pocket,
wondering if, before long, I would have to use my weapon.

Finally, I became tired of watching and resumed reading.

I dared not fire

Tracked Through Chinatown 51

The train reached Baltimore, and Lok's boy crouched still
lower in his chair. Then came a confused and waspish buzz
of voices from the doorway and three husky men—with
"detective" written all over them—followed the conductor
down the aisle. Instinctively I glanced toward the Chinese,
just in time to see him jerk a packet from beneath his vest
and push it out of sight behind the seat cushion. The forced
calm on the surface could not hide from me the panic within
him. When the detectives stopped before him he came to his
feet with the jerkiness of a person nerved and tense, but
uttered no word, as his hat and coat were forced on him and
he was told to accompany them. Determined to learn the
meaning of the move, I pushed close to the tallest officer,
whispered my identity and asked if it were an arrest.

"Yes," he replied, also speaking low. “I don't know much,
though. Headquarters got a wire from Washington ordering
this Chink to be taken off. He's wanted down there for
robbery."

As the prisoner passed me he flashed a look in which there
was no recognition. His captors followed with his grips. I
stepped aside and glanced at the passengers who had gathered
near and was amazed to note another Oriental watching
intently. He was fashionably dressed in a gray suit, and
had shaved his brows só as to more nearly resemble a Jap-
anese. But I knew he was a Chino. Instantly I figured the
thing was a plant to keep Lok's boy from reaching New York.
The warrant probably had been sworn out by enemies who
had made a false charge, and the well-dressed Oriental near
me was a spy observing developments. Naturally, I wondered
what was in the packet that Lok's boy had concealed. Some-
thing vital, no doubt, which he dared not have found upon
him, His lightning move to hide it proved his resourcefulness.

AS the detectives and Lok's boy left the train and the

passengers separated, the Chinese attempted to edge
into the seat vacated by the prisoner. I beat him to it,
pushed him aside and sat down with, “What do you want
here? This isn't your chair!" He snarled something I didn't
catch, while his eyes flashed with resentment. But, before
another move could be made, the conductor, who
had remained and guessed I had some authority
because of my talk with the detectives, turned upon
the Chinese. “Your place is in the car behind,
sir," he said. “If you want to change you must go
into the club car."

The other stiffened, but turned without a word
and disappeared. The conductor followed. As
they left the car I slipped my fingers down until
they gripped the mysterious packet, then drew
it up and into my pocket so carefully that none
about me could have observed. I was burning to
inspect it, but knew it must remain out of sight
until I had reached some place where I would be
positive I was beyond prying eyes. However, the more
I thought about the second Chinese, the more certain I
was that he was a spy, and I was still trying to think of
some way of having him trailed, when we paused for a
time in Philadelphia, then proceeded on the last lap of
the journey to New York.

A few minutes later the conductor came to me, leaned
close and whispered: “That Chinaman just left the train,
though his ticket read to New York."

1 thanked him, but my thinking machinery instantly be-
gan working at top speed. Beyond question the man was a
spy. Whether he knew of the packet or not, he would want
to learn something about me. He had alighted at Phila-
delphia so he could telephone or telegraph ahead and have
others take up my trail when I reached the Terminal—per-
haps do worse! My familiarity with the Oriental mind,
however, made me grin. It would take one cleverer than
this fellow to best me! I went to the wash-room. No one
was there. I pushed the packet inside my collar and let
it drop down until it rested against the skin of my stomach.
I believed I knew what was going to happen.

In order that any scheme against me might be carried out
to the point I desired, I left the train at New York, carrying
my grip in one hand and my overcoat over my free arm. 1
was in a considerable crowd which became a positive jam
as we entered the railroad station proper, and there was much
jostling. Being on the alert, I thought I felt skilful hands
thrust into my pockets. Finally, I worked myself free and
walked into the big waiting-room. Glancing down, my
suspicions were confirmed. A slit along the side of my coat
showed where it had been cut with a sharp knife and the
contents of my inner pocket stolen.

Now I knew I was suspected and was being trailed. I

smiled at the thought that the package of time-tables I
had put in that pocket in anticipation of the robbery was all
the thief had obtained. Whether he had been after the
mysterious packet, or personal papers which would identify
me, I could only guess. I had seen no Chinese in the throng,
so white pickpockets must have been employed. I hoped to
make certain. The papers had said that the murderers of
Yet Wung might have been whites. If some tong was using
white crooks there could be no doubt the clash was unusually
bitter. I thought of a scheme to find out what I wanted to
know.

After putting on my overcoat so as to hide the result of the
knife slash, I left my grip at the check-
room, walking away with the pasteboard
check in my hand. I made as if to put it

Len Tang seized the
terrified girl and held
her before him

in my pocket, but purposely dropped it. If I were being
trailed it would be picked up at once. But I figured it would
be several minutes before my grip would be claimed. I hur-
ried to the office of Kennedy, the station-master, whom l
knew. I asked him to telephone the parcel-room men and
direct them to refuse to. surrender my grip when the check
was presented. They were to tell the applicant that the
owner of the satchel had reported he had lost his check and
the container would not be turned over until its contents
were described, and its key produced.

Fifteen minutes later Kennedy received a report. A hard-
looking youth had presented the check. When questioned,
he said he had been sent for the grip by a man in a nearby

52 True Detective Mysteries

hotel and would go and get him. Of course he never came
back. But I had learned what I wanted to know. White
criminals were being used by Chinese to trail me. It would
require clever maneuvering to slip them and reach my hide-
out unobserved. Giving Kennedy an address where to send
my grip next day, I put my automatic in an outer pocket and
slipped from a rear door into Eighth Avenue. Not knowing
whether I still was under surveillance, I tried a ruse which
usually worked. Walking westward through a tenement
quarter, I encountered a single taxi, with no other in sight.
Taking this, I ordered the chauffeur to drive as fast as possible
to Brooklyn Bridge. No trailer could follow without another
cab.

Reaching the entrance to the bridge, I paid the driver, then
hastened along until I was able to hide myself in the pitch
blackness beneath the abutments. There I dodged about until
absolutely certain I was not watched, then made for my
Roosevelt Street hideout as fast as my legs would go.

p my room I immediately drew forth thc

packet and ripped off the covering, which
revealed, as I had anticipated, a scroll covered
with Chinese characters. Its translation,

stripped of much of the Oriental verbiage, was
this:

Yet Wung, the filthy vulture who had
joined the most glorious and honorable
On Leong Tong as a spy from the Hip
Sing Tong, sons of rats and putrid of
morals, has most properly been killed as
a warning;toother vicious and infamous
qM qua. Len Yok Chun, Len
Tang, Hing-Gow and (48other names
followed.) These less than dogs, who
have betrayed the splendid On Leong
Tong and stolen much gold and valu-
ables, have sought the protection of the
unspeakable cattle, the Hip Sing Tongs,
mocked at those they have robbed,
broken their blood oath and refused to
make honorable restitution at the re-
cent New Year. One more demand for

repayment, with a heavy fine, will be made. Then, unless
full satisfaction is Lu the crawling cockroaches named,
and all who have aided the thieving renegades from the most
respected On Leong Tong, are to be meted the extreme
penalty as proof to all that an oath before Joss Quong Kong

must be respected.

There was no signature. But I was certain I understood
the meaning of the message. Fifty-one former members of
the On Leong Tong, led by the three mentioned, had stolen
a great deal of money from the Society, and deserted to the
Hip Sings. They had been ordered to make restitution and
had refused. This was an official order from some high
authority—some Chinese “Court of Last Appeal" of which
my Washington washee-washee, old Chong-Poy-Lok, obvi-
ously was a member—directing that, if they would not obey
another and final demand, they should be killed, together
with any Hip Sings who tried to protect them. I wished the
amount stolen had been stated. I figured it probably ran
well up into the thousands, for Len Yok Chun had been presi-
dent of the Society—the richest Chinese Society in America
outside of the Four Brothers of San Francisco—and the chief
custodian of its funds.

I also decided the absconders probably had left the Leongs
some time before and that Yet Wung had been made to join
the Order that he might report the moves taken against the
thieves and their protectors. Yet Wung's treachery had been
discovered and he had paid the penalty. Knowing nothing
could be done that night, I took a long sleep, preparatory to
an anticipated hard day.

Next morning, in the hope of picking up further informa-
tion, I donned shabby clothing and visited the Chinese
quarter, studying the bulletin boards at both ends. Nothing
concerning Yet Wung was in the Leongs' district, but at the
Hip Sings' end was a bit of paper stating the murdered man
was a true brother, and a hero who had been shot while de-

fending his property from thieving Leongs. T believed this

Chinese symbol thrust
into Hoyos’ hand at
the time he was warned

was a lie intended to further inflame the Leongs. But I was
disappointed that so little appeared on the bulletin boards.
Apparently, both sides feared making threats lest they be
translated by /o fungs to the police, thereby making them more
friendly to the Tong threatened. I decided the shortest cut to
full information was for me to locate “Nellie the Hop,” a
white woman of the quarter with whom I was on most friendly
terms, and who had helped me on previous occasions. Un-
questionably, she could save me days of investigation.

However, realizing she would not be about her haunts until
later, I made for the Police Station and soon was in
secret conference with Captain Calvin. He was inclined to
believe the police activity and the killing of Yet Wung had
put a damper on the threatened war, but changed his mind
when I told him what I had learned, the purport of the official
order I had intercepted, and gave him a list of the 51 Orientals
listed for punishment.

“You're always right in these matters, Herman, and I
appreciate your coming to New York to try to prevent
a lot of killings by the yellow boys. Last
night I thought of calling off the extra
men, for the natives had returned to the
streets, the shops were open and our stool
pigeons told us the war had been called off.
It’s a cinch the Hip Sings didn’t know about
this order you got hold of. Now we'll lo-
cate every one on that list we can, and lock
them up until we force the signing of a new
peace pact."

"That won't hurt," I replied. “But be-
cause you've only had a few outbreaks since
the 1913 'peace paper' was signed, don't think
there will be no others! I'm going to get the
real low-down on this, then I'll advise you
further. My idea is the war has only been
postponed. Do you,Know where I can find
Nellie?”

“No. We've been watching all the white
hop-heads, but she hasn’t been seen for days.”

After leaving him I spent the remainder of the day
trying to learn something of the woman’s whereabouts,
but with no success. It was unusual for her to remain away
from the quarter so long, and I was worried lest some-
thing had happened to her. However, I had noted that
the natives went about the district as though certain of
no immediate trouble, although, at all times, chattering groups
hung about the two tong headquarters. By passing through
these occasionally and keeping my ears open, I learned that
Len Yok Chun and his confederates were in Cleveland, but
that fighting was anticipated when they returned. I took a
long chance by my persistent eavesdropping, but believed
I had not acted so as to cause any suspicion.

ETERMINED to learn more before reporting to Captain

Calvin, I decided upon a long shot to uncover Nellie.
Going a considerable distance from the quarter I ate a big meal,
my first since breakfast, then wrote a note to the woman—in a
code which only she and I understood—directing her to come
to my hideout as soon as possible. My scheme was to hunt
out one of the white regulars among the quarter's opium
smokers—one who knew me as a panhandler—and pay him
to deliver the message. The most sane of these was a
derelict known as “The Mouse,” a lobbygow for China-
town's white women, who for years had occupied a squalid,
attic room in a ramshackle structure in the rear of a Pell
Street tenement.

Entering the quarter from the upper end, I slouched along.
keeping close to the buildings and avoiding as much as possi-
ble the Orientals I passed. As I turned into the darkened
doorway of the place I sought, a Chinese in native dress
crowded in beside me, thrust a bit of paper into my hand,
muttered a few words in his own tongue, then raced up the
fecbly lighted stairway, and disappeared before I recovered
from my surprise, or could stop him. (Continued on page 66)

The BUNCO MILLION!

“Cody, your life isn’t worth the snap of a finger—if
you go ahead in this fight!” sneered the bunco
go-between. But—Cody did go ahead

EDITOR’S NOTE: It should be
borne in mind that Mr. Cody’s
colorful story of The Great
Bunco Syndicate at Los An-
fees, given below, has no bear-
ng upon or connection with
the present highly efficient
Police Department of that city,
which, from the Chief of Police
down, is one of the finest
Police Administrations to be
found anywhere in the world.

HE “Big Hutch" Million-Dol-

lar Bunco Syndicate had swin-
dled J. B. Norris—only one of the
gang's many victims in Los Angeles
—out of $50,000.00.

I was relentlessly pressing the
crooks to disgorge their plunder
and make restitution, particularly
p pie who had been "cleaned
out.

Was the gang sore at me? I'll
say it was!

After the then District Attorney
a me as a deputy in his
ofice I quickly learned that no
co-operation could be looked for
from the authorities. Time after
time I tracked. “Big Hutch"
down and notified the officials
where he could be apprehended—
only to be told later that he had
ks og through their fingers!

e day, ten minutes after a
mysterious telephone call had
warned me thai the gang was
out to "frame me," one of my
tag pe „was man-handled by
three huskies to within an inch of
his life.

The warnings to me had not
been idle threats.

The bunco gang was out to get
me, for fair!

Building, down-town in Los Angeles, partly to relieve

my wife's anxiety, and partly because, everything con-

sidered, my home out on Grand Avenue was a good deal
more private and would serve me a good deal better as a
place of business

l don't think I have ever been afraid of the prospect of
death, but frankly, no man relishes the thought of being
pushed into the great unknown when he considers himself
in the prime of life.

From various and reliable sources I received information
that substantiated the tip I had received, and there was
no doubt that the Bunco Syndicate meant to put me out
of the picture, one way or another.

Big Hutch (Hutchings), what with the second failure
of the authorities to arrest him, having shaken off my two men,

| DECIDED to close up my office in the California

William E. Mead, who, with Johnny Keneff, was credited
with “laying” for Detective Cody, to “bump him off”

By

ALBERT J. CODY
International Detective

As told to
WILBERTWADLEIGH

was hard to find a third time.

But, in spite of the lack
of co-operation I had re-
ceived from the police, and
the District Attorney's of-
fice in particular, I decided
to cofitinue as a special in-
vestigator for District Attorney
Woolwine for a few more
days, in the hope that I
could convince him of the
corruption all around him,
and prevail upon him to arrest
all the bunks I had spotted
before he started in to clean
house.

Naturally, at the first
sign of a shake - up in
the Force, I knew the

bunks would head for the
tall timber.

On the other hand, despite
the threats that had been made
upon my life, I knew that, if a
settlement between the bunks
and old man Norris, out of
whom they had swindled thc
$50,000.00, was effected, as
seemed likely at any time,
the gang would boldly come out of cover and resume opera-
tions.

I was pretty sure that they knew nothing about my
having lined up victims other than Nortis as clients, and
that, having disposed of Norris, they would consider that
they had also disposed of me. Naturally, that was what
I wanted them to think.

But, as covertly as possible, I had conferred with several
victims of the “pay-off racket," and, including Norris, had
so far effected agreements with the following clients, the
figures opposite their names representing the amounts they
had been swindled out of:

TES INOTTIE AE a TREE e er Se $50,000

T'HONNISORHEHUE: PV. sre r nar. 43,000
xy inva s EC OS ecc a a EC 20,000
Iti E e SEXE OE EETRTST TT EIER 24,000

54 True Detective Mysteries

OE TRBOE. 25.21 eA oe ares Me $70,000
John T- Murr, 2:2 5 EIS ez eee em 27,000
William Schseiderz 2... 1e veis 20,000

These men represented only a small, number of à those who
had fallen victims to the Bunco Syndicate, and like my
list of the bunco men, grew as the days passed.

My office, during the early part of February, 1920, listed
seven more suspects as members of the ring: C. V. Wilson,
George H. Williams, Grove Sullivan, A. O. Kepler, Art
Young, J. A. Topler, and J. H. French, making our record
read, starting off with the king-pin. Big Hutch: E. A. Hutch-
ings, Hugh Trainor, B. M. Patterson, Walter Byland, Harry
D. White, William H. Loftus, Robert F. Wilson, William
Shaw, Frank Williams, “Doc” Sterling, Arthur Toschero.
C. F. Dennison, Thomas Gere, C. V. Wilson, Geo. H. Williams,
Grove Sullivan, A. O. Kepler, Art Young, J. A. Topler,
J. H. French, a total of twenty. That there were three times
that many concerned, we had no doubt. I also knew that
a big local bank was behind them.

ONE thing that bothered me was the fact that an old
‘acquaintance of mine, William Dean, had been
seen in company with Ray Gilbert, the bunks’ go-
between, whom I had kept tabs on, and who
had tried to get me to accept five thousand

dollars to lay off the syndicate.

On February 6th, 1920, shortly after
I had established headquarters at my
house on Grand Avenue, the mystery
was explained to some extent when
Ray Gilbert, in company with Dean,
called upon me.

“I didn't know that you two were
friends," I said, studying Dean, who
dropped his eyes.

“Dean and you are well acquainted,
Cody," Gilbert said quickly, "and I
thought maybe you'd listen to a friend
more than you would to me. You tell him,
Bill."

Dean looked uncomfortable.

"Well," he said, "it's this way. Gilbert's
told me everything; about him offering you five
grand, if you would let the gang alone, and so on.
I guess you've found out by now that you're bucking a big
syndicate that has plenty of protection. You tipped off Hutch
twice to: Deputy Brown of the District Attorney's office, and
you've found out that they ain't anxious to pick Hutch up,
or any of the other bunks."

He paused, as if the spiel he was putting up was distasteful.

“Go on," I said with a grim smile.

“Well—you've got the goods on Gilbert, here, what with
having planted a short-hand operator when he offered
you that five grand, and I guess you could railroad
him——”

“I promised Ray," I interrupted, "that if the bunks
settled with Norris, I'd forget all about him. That
still goes.”

Gilbert's harried features lightened.

“Then you're going to stick to that, Cody?" he asked.

I nodded. I didn't tell him that I knew the bunks were
planning to settle with old Norris direct.

“Thanks, Cody," Gilbert said, drawing a breath of relief.
“They'll settle with the old man, all right."

“I told Gilbert that your word was good as gold," Dean
said, flashing a triumphant look at Gilbert. Then he met my
eyes, and coughed nervously. ''Well, now—some of the
gang are pretty sore at you, Al. You've sewed them up, and
they're willing to give you another chance to take five grand
or so and forget it. And——"

"And continue operations," I finished ironically.

Neither answered for a moment.

"Look here, Al," Dean said at length, “what more can you
do? Your hands are tied; if you knew how many cops and

(Above)
William $

Shaw,
"wanted" in Los
Angeles

(Left) Cal Rolf. Rolf
the man who said, ''I
know all the dips in the
world, and particularly in
Los Angeles." It was on
the strength of this state-
ment that he was com-
missioned to ''collect the
4 pokes”

(Below) Art Young, ar-
rested at Salt Lake

other officials are in on this thing, you'd—why, your
eyes would pop out of your head! And if you don’t
come to business with the syndicate, well——”

He left the sentence unfinished. I finished it for
him by drawing a hand across my throat. Both he and
Gilbert nodded.

"Well, boys," I said cheerfully, “I'm fifty, but I'm too
young to die. Thanks for your consideration, though.”

They stared at me, and at one another.

“Then—you're going ahead with this thing?" Gilbert

The Bunco Million! 55

(Above) A.
O. Kepler

(Right) George H.
Williams

(Below) J. A. Topler. All
ee of these men, also
m" and Young, shown
on the opposite e, were
members of the Donee
coda ioi De-
tective y put up
such adi te fight,

practically single-
handed

exclaimed, staring at me in frank incredulity.

“You bet your life I am!” I retorted promptly.
There was a long silence, and then Gilbert
rose. He seemed to be impressed.

“Cody,” he said earnestly, “you've played square with me,
and—well, I wish to God you'd listen to reason. If you go
ahead in this fight, your life isn't worth that!" He snapped his
fingers. “And you ain't going to get a dime of Norris’ or
any of the other suckers’ money——"

“I think," I said firmly, “that that is my business, Ray.

You and the others have found out that I can't be scared off
or bought off. So that's that, and—I’m rather partial to
violets,"

Gilbert shrugged, his features more troubled and concerned
than l had expected. I've often thought since that my attitude
made a profound impression upon him. I kept my word
with him, and he was never picked up, and as far as I know,
has gone straight.

"Well," Gilbert said, “I guess we've said all there's to be
said." He stuck out his hand impulsively. “So long, Al.”

I smiled, taking his hand.

“So long, son," I replied.

He and Dean left without another word.

Dean called upon me the next day, alone, and said that he
hadn't come the day before from choice, but had been forced
to do so.

"Maybe you are taking some awful chances, Al," he said,
"but you know your own mind. I’m stronger than horse-
radish for you, myself, but I wouldn't be in your shoes for a
million dollars, just the same!"

“T don't blame you," I commented dryly.

"Anyway, it's none of my business, and believe me, if

there was anything I could do to help you, I would.

I guess you know that I'm running a big risk
coming here alone to talk with you. Good

luck, Al—and for God's sake, keep your

eyes open.”

I shook hands with him, promising to do
so, and we parted. Looking back at
the situation, I have to smile. Both

Gilbert and Dean were convinced
that they were taking their leave of a
doomed man. A few flowers, some
pipe-organ music, and, perhaps, a
nice sermon for the near-departed,
would have rounded out the effect

nicely. y s

Now during all this, I was still a special

investigator of the District Attorney's
office. But the District Attorney, Thomas

Lee Woolwine, himself, had been too occupied
with other matters, among them plans for
entering the field as a candidate for Governor of

California, and had assigned Deputy Brown to handle
the bunco situation, make arrests, and get everything
ready so that the bunks could be indicted and prosecuted.

That he had implicit faith in Brown, Asa Keyes, and his
other deputies, I had no doubt. But needless to say, since
Brown had muffed two dead-sure chances to grab Hutch after
I had all but put a tag on him, I had no such faith in Wool-
wine's subordinates.

Likewise, so many officials had been "fixed" by the Bunco
Syndicate that I knew it was hopeless for me to look in that
direction for help. And the only help I wanted was that
Hutch and the rest of the gang be picked up and placed be-
hind the bars as I located them. But Hutch and Trainor
had now gone to New Orleans, rumor had it.

I determined, as a last resort, to appeal to Woolwine him-
self, though it goes without saying that I didn't relish the task
of telling him some unpleasant truths about his own office,
and trying to persuade him to believe me, a very unlikely
possibility.

DI? was several days, however, before the tremendous weight
of Woolwine's duties—and he was a sick man into the
bargain— permitted a conference.

I can see him yet as he faced me across the desk, hollow
circles under his eyes, so ill that he should have been in bed,
yet imbued with that nervous energy that had characterized
the man during his long years in public office.

I felt him out first, tellng him of the bunks I had spotted,
of the victims I had lined up, hinting at the official corrup-
tion—which he was partially aware of and meant to investi-
gate—and finally, I told of how, on (Continued on page 74)

The HOLLOW

Eighteen-year-old Frank
Andrews mysteriously dis-
appeared. Friends and
neighbors were worried.
“What has happened to
Frank?” they queried
anxiously. Then—some
bits of human flesh were
found....

By Detective W. W. Rogers
As told to JACK WOOTEN

tell-tale message, or a fingerprint, often, it is true, is

the means of solving a tough crime case. But I have

often thought how important is the clue one can neither
see nor touch, nor even accurately guess at, sometimes—that
intangible evidence ''safely covered," back in the mind of a
suspect, or a potential witness. I have often thought of how
important a part such ''hidden clues" eventually play in
thousands of crime cases that seem, at first, hopeless to the
detectives—if, and when, they can be uncovered.

In my entire experience of 28 years as a detective, perhaps
no one case has brought this fact home to me more forcibly
than the strange disappearance of young Frank Andrews.

Thomas Andrews, father of the 18-year-old boy who had
so mysteriously vanished, tilled a farm in the upper section of
the Southern state where I live. He confided his fears to a
close friend of his, who in turn brought the matter to the
attention of the Governor of the state. I was serving on the
State Police staff and the Governor immediately called me
in and assigned me to the case.

When the Governor assigned a detective on his staff to a
case, it meant that case was to be solved and no alibis ac-
cepted. Knowing that, I got busy!

The friend who had brought the matter to the Governor's
attention, took: me to see old man Andrews. I had not talked
with the old gentleman five minutes before I realized he knew
little or nothing as to what had happened to his son. I felt
sorry for him. His haggard face and swollen eyes gave mute
testimony of the worry he was undergoing, but he had no
information to give other than that his son had left home one
morning about 8 o'clock, wearing a clean shirt which his
mother had washed the day before, and that he was ap-
parently happy.

“I heard he went to West Virginia, and I'm afraid he run
away with a woman who ain't all she should be," he finished.

"Who gave you the information about the woman?" I
asked.

He replied that a man by the name of Stanley Hansen, a
distant neighbor of his, had given him this information.
Further questioning brought out the fact that Hansen had
volunteered the name of the town to which Frank had gone,
and that he also had stated he was in receipt of a letter from
Frank in which the boy said he would “be back pretty soon."

56

Ts objective, tangible clue, such as a bloodstain, a

REE

“The gal
didn't want
toleave, an’
begged me
to protect
her."

"Was your son very friendly with Hansen?" I inquired
casually.

"Well, he helped him on his farm," replied the old man,
"but Frank wasn't no hand to ever stay away from home for
no length of time without letting me and Ma know why.”

Weighing this information I found in it the reason for the
father's conviction, or what impressed me at the time as a
conviction, that something serious had happened to his son.
Just how surely his feelings were informing him of the truth,
will be apparent later.

AT once returned to town and got in touch with the

sheriff of the county in West Virginia where Frank was
supposed to be, and was advised by him that he did not know
the young man, but would make an investigation. He did,
and it didn't take him long. He stated that Frank Andrews
had not been in that county.

During the interval, until I got word from the sheriff, I
had been revolving in my mind the information the man
Hansen had volunteered to young Frank's father, and the
more I thought about it the more I wondered why it was, if
Hansen had told the truth, that he (Hansen) was the only
person who had heard from Frank. Possibly there was some
reason why the son was ashamed to write to his parents, but
I doubted that. It then occurred to me that since it was a
friend of the father who had communicated with the Governor,
possibly neither Mr. nor Mrs. Andrews could read or write,
which was not altogether uncommon in that country. Follow-
ing this line of reasoning, it was possible that, instead of
writing to his parents direct, Frank had written to Hansen
and asked him to communicate with them, but I hesitated to
take this charitable view of Hansen's part in the affair when

HORROR!

I came upon the information that Hansen had in-
structed the postmaster of the town to send to him
all mail received from Frank Andrews. This gave me
further food for thought.

Seeking out one of the rural officers of the county,
who acted as my guide, I journeyed across the wooded
country for about seven miles to Stanley Hansen's
farm. No one was at the house. The rural policeman
informed me that Hansen’s wife had left him about a
month prior to my arrival in the town, and I surmised
that probably Hansen was out somewhere on his farm,
working. The door of his shabby little cabin was
locked and there was not a sound about the place.

About a half mile from Hansen's dwelling was a
house which we could plainly see from the farmer's
front porch—the home of William Bass, my guide in-
formed me. While waiting for Hansen to show up we
walked over to the place, found Bass seated at the door of

his cabin, and, without preliminaries, stated the object of our
visit. .

ASS, an intelligent-looking fellow with a frank face,

invited us in and after we were seated, at once admitted

that he knew Frank Andrews, and, of course, was well ac-
quainted with his near neighbor, Stanley Hansen.

“The last time I see Frank was about a month ago," he
informed us. “It was in the afternoon an’ he was ridin’ in a
wagon with Cyrus Hansen, Stanley's brother."

Upon being questioned he informed us that he knew about
Stanley's wife leaving him.

"Was Frank living with Hansen then?" I asked.

"Yes, He stayed there for about one week after-Stanley's
wife left for West Virginia.”

“Did you ever ask Hansen where Frank had gone?” I
questioned him.

“I did," he replied promptly, '"an' he told me Frank had
gone to West Virginia, but that he was looking for him back
the next Monday to take his plow. That was what he said,
but when Monday come, Frank didn't show up."

Some meaty information came out right after this when I
asked him if Hansen had ever talked to him about why his
wife had left him, and if so, what explanation he had given.

"Stanley caught Frank hugging her," was his reply, with-
out any hesitation,

This caused me to pause and think the matter over a little.
However, I have found that it is not a wise thing to jump at
conclusions so I left this circumstance open in my mind.
It might be true, and it might not. Again, if true, it might
mean nothing in particular as regards Frank Andrews’
disappearance.

“Did Hansen tell you anything else about Frank?”

"Yes," he replied slowly, after a pause. “He told me
there was a woman Frank was runnin' after that had been to
his place.”

"Who was the woman?”

“I don't know; he didn't tell me a thing about her but just
that, an’ he didn't give no explanations.”

I remembered that old man Andrews had talked of “a
strange woman" Frank was paying attention to. Was this
the woman?

"Have you heard of any other stranger being in this section
during the last month or so?”

"Nope," replied Bass, “I ain't heard of no one."

As we left Bass’ home I said to my rural guide, ‘‘What do
you think about this?”

"Maybe the kid followed Stanley’s wife to West Virginia.
Maybe Stanley's wife is the woman Frank's father speaks
about," he suggested.

“Hardly,” I replied, “—not if our friend Hansen is telling

“He reached
up an' got
my shotgun
off'n the
wall."

the truth, anyhow”.

My guide gave me
a quick glance as we
trudged along hi
rough path throug
the woods. "Why do
you say that?” he
asked.

“Because I don't
think the boy would
write to Hansen if
he had chased his
wife into West Vir-
ginia,” I answered.

As I spoke we
neared Hansen's cab-
in again and walk-
ing up to it, found
the door still locked.
There was visible, in
the opposite direc-
tion from Bass’ place,
another cabin, which
stood about 300
yards distant. My
rural guide said he
believed a fellow by the name of Slim Stukes lived there, but
that we could go over and see, and possibly this neighbor
could tell us something as to the whereabouts of Hansen.

WE found Stukes at home and I began to question him.

He proved to be a different type of man from Bass, :
however. He refused to answer any of my questions, and,
although I kept at him for a time, using as much patience as
it was possible for me to use under the circumstances, I had
to give up my effort to pry something out of him. Finally I
said to him:

“I believe you know more about the disappearance of this
boy than you care to tell. You couldn't help but know some-
thing, living as near Hansen's place here, as you do. I am
going to lock you up and hold you as a witness.”

This information affected Stukes not in the least. He
submitted to arrest without a protest and we took him to the
county jail and locked him up.

Meanwhile, after our arrival back in town with Stukes,
while discussing the case with some officers of the county, I
learned that a tobacco barn, standing not far from Hansen’s
house, had been burned to the ground the morning after
Frank Andrews had last been seen. This did not tend to
allay any suspicions I had concerning Hansen, and so it was
that I and my guide, on returning to Hansen's cabin the
third time, and finding that the farmer had not yet returned,
lost no time in going over to the ruins of the tobacco barn.

I do not want to infer that in examining the ashes of the
burned tobacco barn I expected to find the bones of Frank
Andrews. I didn’t find his bones there. I didn’t expect to
find anything there, but, determined not to pass up any

57

58 True Detective Mysteries

possible clue, or anything that might lead to the revealing of
a clue, I wanted to examine the place before it became dark
and satisfy myself there was nothing of a suspicious char-
acter in the fact that the barn had burned down just when it
did—the morning after Frank Andrews disappeared.

So I went there with my rural guide, and we started digging
around in the ashes to see what we could find, but with little
hope or expectation of finding anything at all. But—we
were treated to a surprise! We did find a clue, or what we
believed would turn out to be a clue, evidence so startling
(if it turned out to be what we thought it was) as to almost
discredit belief. What this gruesome find was, will be dis-
closed a little later.

Going back to Hansen's cabin, this time we found him
there. He was standing near the back door when we arrived,
washing his face in an old tin pan. I introduced myself and
then suggested that we go into the house and talk. “There
are several questions I want to ask you, Mr. Hansen," I
explained, as he gave me an inquiring look.

Stanley Hansen reminded me very much of Tom Locke,
the bootlegger-murderer whom I apprehended and who was
sent to prisdn for life as related in Against Fearful Odds,
appearing in the last December issue of this magazine. He

Mint n HE HU EH HH EL HH HH HH HH HH LEHRER EH LEE EE

tutiiititilil

him. I got a letter sayin’ he was comin’ back to plow fer me
again, but he ain't showed up. I reckon he's gallivantin'
around with that woman of his'n."

“I heard you received some mail for him. Is that true?"

"Yep. He askt me to git hit fer him—leastwise, hev hit
sent out to me. Here's a letter waitin' fer him now."

He got up and handed me a letter, addressed to Frank
Andrews, from some concern that manufactured eyeglasses.

* "Tain't nuthin’ wrong with his eyes," he continued, “but
I reckon he jest wanted to answer the advertisin'."'

"Mr. Hansen," I said, “the last time Frank was seen, he
was riding in a wagon with your brother, driving out of your
yard. Do you remember what day that was?”

H* immediately gave the correct date of the young man's
disappearance.
“Do you remember what you did on that day?" I went on.
“Yes suh," he answered, "I do." He then told me every-
thing he did, from the time he arose that morning to the
time he went to bed that night. I don't recall the exact
details, but he put in a pretty good day's work, judging from
the happenings he related. After he concluded, I asked:
"Now, what did you do on the day before that?"

AARE

‘In all my career of 28 years as a detective I have seen few things,
or have experienced few things, that made a deeper impression on
me than did this scene of horror.... Hansen was handcuffed, and
was in my custody as we arrived at the tree which had been the altar,
not of a sacrifice, but for a hidden pyre in which had been perpetrated

an inhuman act, a black crime so ghastly. . . .

»

tipi n n HH HH HH HU HH LE HH LLL EE ELLE E

was slightly taller and not so stocky as Locke, but he was of
the same type, and had the same facial characteristics. He
was a typical roughneck, dirty and unkempt, but he had a
certain bold, frank look about him that, in spite of his appear-
ance, prepossessed one in his favor.

When we were inside the place I noticed that the cabin
was as dirty and unkempt as its owner. Built in the wall was
a bed, such as it was, and on it was a layer of corn-shucks
which served the purpose of a mattress.

"Mr. Hansen," I began, as soon as we were seated, ‘‘before
I start talking to you I want to tell you that you may be
charged with a crime. The Law requires that I inform you
of this, and further, to let you know that whatever you may
say in answering the questions I will put to you, may be used
for or against you."

""That's all right, Mr. Rogers," he replied,
obliged to you for tellin' me."

"You do not have to answer any questions I ask you," I
added. “You may do just as you please about that.”

“Go ahead," he replied promptly. “Ask me anything you
like."

“and I’m much

H's frank manner disarmed me. He looked me square in
the face, his eyes never shifting, and I could detect not
the slightest evidence of nervousness in his manner. | told
him I was investigating the disappearance of Frank Andrews
and that I had been told Frank had last been seen leaving
his (Hansen's) house in a wagon with his brother, Cyrus.
“Yes suh," he said slowly, “Frank used to work fer me. I
was lookin' fer him back several weeks ago, but I ain't seed

Witt nps Hn P HEU LER ELE EHE H ELE TEE ELLE LLL HELLE HUM

He hesitated for several minutes, then replied:

“Wall, I don't remember exactly.”

"How about two days later—the day after Frank left? Do
you remember what you did then?"

He shook his head. “Nope,” he said, “I don't remember.”
"Nor anything that happened on that day?"

“Nope.”

A thought was running through my mind, and I figured
that here was where I would catch him. I said:

“You have just told me in detail of every move you made
on the day Frank disappeared. Now you tell me that you
can't think of a single thing that happened on the day before
Frank disappeared, nor a single thing that happened on the
day after Frank disappeared. How do you explain that?"

"Wall," he replied cautiously, “I jest remember about the
day Frank lef’ me. I thought a heap of that boy, an’ shore
miss him."

I could see that Hansen was trying to dodge the issue. He

. was making an effort to change the subject, but he gave not

the slightest sign of any nervousness. Although he had
managed to have a ready reply to every question I had asked
him, so far, I wondered what explanation he would have in
reference to the next matter I was going to bring up!

“Mr. Hansen," I continued, "since you remember so well
the day Frank Andrews disappeared, it seems remarkable to
me you can't remember that the barn near your home was
burned to the ground the very next morning.'

He gave me a quick look, an involuntary action with no
movement of his head—only his shrewd eyes seeming to
register a creeping fear. But his reply was almost instant,

The Hollow

and without emotion, as far as I, closely watching, could see.

“Shore, I remember thet. I jest didn’t think of it when
you askt,”’

I kept my eyes on him for a time without speaking, but he
returned my look boldly.

"Have you any idea who set it on fire?”

"No more'n you. suh!"

OW, if by chance what we had discovered in the ashes of
the burned tobacco barn, was wAat we thought it was,
then this man of the woods, seated eyeing me so coolly,
was, without a doubt, guilty of a murder perpetrated in a
most ghastly manner. Another thought was running
through my mind as I looked at him. I felt sure that he had
no idea that my companion and I had examined the ruins of
the burned tobacco barn. If so, and I had every reason to
believe it so, it did not seem to me that even his iron nerve
could face the statement I was right then preparing to spring
on him suddenly—without giving some indication in his
face, if he was guilty.

“We have been out to the ruins of that barn, Mr. Hansen,”
I said slowly, looking him straight in the eye, “and we have
found, in the ashes there, some pieces of flesh that might
be human flesh. How did it get there?"

[I held Hansen's eye, but it never wavered. If there was
any ‘feeling of guilt in his soul at this sudden revelation, it
did not show in his face. Not by so much as the flicker of
an eyelash could I see any change in his expression, or manner.

"| ain't surprised at that, Mr. Rogers," he replied in
natural, convincing tones. ‘‘A couple of my sheep was always
goin' to that barn. Every time a storm come up they run in
there. They got caught in there all right, fer the barn was
all in flames like a piece of tinder the minute she got started.”

That was that.

Hansen gave every indication of being innocent, but the
feeling persisted in my mind that everything was not as it
seemed. The hidden clue, so to speak, the knowledge which,
back in his mind, he was so shrewdly concealing, still ‘‘got
across" to me somehow. I was not satisfied. I told him so,
and, for upwards of an hour, I steadily questioned him and
cross-questioned him on every angle of the disappearance
of Frank Andrews, and I pointedly kept returning to the
burning of the tobacco barn, and especially the cause of the
fire. He steadfastly maintained he knew nothing whatsoever
about the cause of the fire, and that he did not know why
Frank had so mysteriously disappeared.

“You told Frank’s father the name of the
town in West Virginia where Frank went
to, ™I shot ‘at him suddenly. "How did you
happen to know that—if
you knew nothing about
why Frank left?”

I thought I would catch
him here, by assuming he
had told the truth to the
father, but he was not to
be tripped so easily.

"Wall, I was jest

Tree Horror! 59
talkin' to the old man like I knew, so he wouldn't worry no
more, because he was takin’ it so hard. I didn't know
nuthin' about where Frank went to."

"You told the boy's father, too, that you had received a
letter from Frank, saying he would be back soon, to take up
plowing for you. Did you receive such a letter?"

"Nope. I told him that fer the same reason I told him
the name of the town. I didn't want him to worry no more
about Frank, like he was, so's he was makin’ himself sick
over it when it wasn't doin’ no good.”

B* now Hansen was becoming a little bit nettled, a little

bit weary. I was beginning to see the first signs of this in
him, and I determined to keep on, only taking a different
tack for a time, so I suddenly switched to his domestic
affairs.

"Mr. Hansen," I said, “you say you have no idea why
Frank left, but maybe you know why your wife left you."

"What's that?" he asked quickly.

“I understand you caught Frank making love to your wife.
Is that right?"

A cautious look came into his shrewd eyes as he drawled:
"Wall now, I wouldn't say she went away 'cause of that. I
did ketch 'em lovin' each other a bit, but they wasn't no
particular harm in that." -

"Where I live, Mr. Hansen, a man would kill for that
offense." I waited.

"Wall now," he calmly replied, "I didn't fall out with
Frank about that! I ain't loved my old woman for some time,
an’ she ain't loved me neither, so what's the difference?"

There may have been logic in this, but it wasn't convincing
to me. I tried another catch question in a further effort to
trap him into an admission.

"You say you didn't fall out
with Frank about his attentions to
your wife. What then did you
fall out with him about?"

“I ain't falled out with Frank
at all," he answered readily.

"But he disappeared just one
week after your wife
left you," I re-
minded him, “and
he hasn't been seen
since. Do you
have any idea what
he is doing in West
Virginia? Do you
suppose he is up
there with your
wife?"

"He ain't with
her," he answered
quickly. "I knows
that fer true. He's
been hangin' aroun'
withanother
woman."

"Do you know
the woman?"

"I've seed her,"

u

ew*

“I got hold of the knife an’... "

60

he returned.

"Where?"

"Rite here.”

"When?" I shot at him.

He gave the date without any hesitation. It happened to
be the same day that Frank Andrews disappeared.

I regarded him for a time without replying. Then:

"Hansen, this is a lot of poppycock. I came here to get the
truth, and I'm going to get it if I have to stay here and ques-
tion you all night, so get that!"

The door of the cabin had opened a little and swung back
on its hinges. I arose slowly, walked over and closed ICT
had had my hat on, arid now took it off, threw it on a chair,

Seated myself and leaned back at my ease, with every indica-
tion of staying for some time to come. I thought I saw a
disappointed look come into Hansen's eyes, and his j jaw set.

Without further preliminary I started in on him again.

THERE followed, during the next two hours, a grilling of

Hansen such as I have given few men. I went over the
entire case from the beginning, questioning him in detail on
every point. I called to his attention the inconsistencies in
his story. Again and again, I came back to the points in
question, and reminded him that it was not a reasonable thing
at all that young Frank Andrews, who had worked for him
and with him, had lived at his own house and ate at his table,
should suddenly disappear, when there was no quarrel or mis-
understanding between them, and neither give any reason for
leaving, nor say where he was going.

For a long time he held to the same calmness and apparent
frankness that had characterized his manner and actions from
the first, but, at last, no doubt finally convinced that I had no
intention of giving up, he began to weaken. He then made
the first important admission that incriminated him, and he
led into it in this manner, as I give it below, taken from my
notes on the case:

“The evenin’ befo’ the day Frank was seen fer the last time,
I come home an’ foun’ thet there woman here with him. I
guess he had writ to ask her to meet him here. Anyhow, I
reckon they was figurin’ on runnin’ away together. When I git
into the house he introduces the gal to me as Miss Sarah
Lane. We went out an' killed a couple of chickens an' the
gal cooked 'em an' made up some biscuits, an' we all had sup-
per together. All of us wuz in a good humor an' we had a
good time. The next mornin' they made like they wuz goin'
to leave, an' they did leave the house but they didn't say
where they wuz goin'. Then, when I come back from work at
noon, I found 'em there. Wall, I went to work an' they stayed
there together all that afternoon an' wuz there when I come
home that night, an' we had supper together again. Then we
fooled aroun' an' the gal kep payin' meattention. Frank got
mad, but the funny part of it wuz he got mad at the gal an'
not me.”

“He did not blame you?”

“NOPE. But he got so mad at the gal he finally told her
she had to git to hell out of the house. I tole him he
wasn't goin’ to raise no trouble in my home, an’ he says,
‘God you, stay out of this!’ an’ he wuz goin’ to grab the
gal an’ make her leave. But the gal didn’t want to leave,
an’ begged me to protect her, so I tole Frank if he wuz fixin’
to get rough that I wuz with him. Then he reached up an’
got my shotgun off'n the wall, but foun’ there wasn't no shells
in hit. He starts fer the other room where he knowed I keep
my shells, an' as he got to the door I askt him not to go no
further, fer him to stop. He pays no 'ttention so I reaches
under the pillow where I seed the gal put a pistol when we
went to bed the night befo', an' hollered again fer him to stop,
but he didn't, so I shot once at him an' he fell on his face."
“Then you carried him out to the tobacco barn and burned
it up to cover the crime," I supplied.
"Nope, I didn't. I don't know nuthin’ 'bout the burnin’ of
the 'bacca barn. I killed Frank Andrews in self-defense,
'cause a lady had askt me to protect her.”

True Detective Mysteries

“Then what did happen to the body?"

“After he fell on his face I heard him straggle a couple of
times, an’ then he didn’t move no more. I was jest goin’
out the yard to get Cyrus; my brother, when a car drives
past me right up to the house an’ two fellers hopped out an’
run inside, an’ pretty soon they come out carryin’ Frank’s
body, put it in the car, an’ drove away.”

“And what happened to the woman?”

"She went with 'em.'

"What did you do then?”

“I went to my brother's an’ told him I had killed Frank in
self-defense.”

DOUBTING the other story that Hansen had told—that

Frank had gone to a town in West Virginia, and was
"coming back soon’’—I also doubted this last one even more.
It did give intimation of what had happened, namely, that
Frank was dead. The childish explanation that two unknown
men had driven up in a car to Hansen's cabin at the psycho-
logical moment, and taken Frank's body away, was simply a
pretext, a “way to get rid of the body." But there was, how-
ever, in this ‘‘confession.”’ something that was, to me, of real
import, namely the plea of self-defense. I saw in this, or
thought I saw in it, Hansen's admission to himself that,
sooner or later, he would have to come across with the truth,
and instinctively he was, in this plea of self-defense, preparing
the way.

It was some little time—perhaps fifteen or twenty minutes
—before I took up questioning Hansen again. I purposely
left him by himself to think over what he had said, and draw-
ing off my rural friend to a corner of the cabin by a window, I
conversed with him in low tones about nothing in particular,
while I waited for the suspect's mind to begin working. We
were between him and the one door in the place, and I had no
intention of allowing him to walk out. I think he knew this,
and also that he thought we were talking about him, for he
cast his eyes in our direction occasionally. Finally I walked
over to him, put my hand on his shoulder and said to him:

“Hansen, if I was a child I might believe these fairy stories
you have been telling me, but down in your heart you know
well enough you can’t get away with that. Don't you sup-
pose I know thaf, if you had really killed this boy in self-
defense, you would have given yourself up to the officers of
the Law? You know, just as well as I know, that the Law
gives a man the right to protect himself, especially in Ais
own house, Hansen. You know that! Furthermore, accord-
ing to your own story, you had a woman for a witness to the
killing—a woman who was not only in sympathy with you,
but had asked you to protect her against this very man you

. State you killed in self-defense. This story of yours is all

wrong, I don't believe a word of it, and I'm going to give
you about five minutes more in which to come across with the
real truth."

“What if I don't tell you nuthin'?"' he asked, as his jaw set
stubbornly.

I pulled out my watch and glanced at it.

"If not—within just three minutes you're going to be on
your way to jail,” I replied.

“All right, I'm with yuh on that!" he shot back.

“Come on, Bill," I said to my rural guide, '*we'll not wait
that other two minutes!” And taking a pair of handcuffs from
my pocket as | spoke, I slipped them on Hansen's wrists.

E took Hansen to the county jail, locked him up in a
cell next to Slim Stukes, and went at once to Cyrus
Hansen's home. Cross-examination of the brother brought
out practically the same story that Hansen had told us. It
was plain to be seen that Hansen had communicated with his
brother, Cyrus, and that the story was cut-and-dried between
them. At the end of our examination we arrested Cyrus and
locked him up also.
Until wellon into the morning hours we put the two brothers
through the third degree. It was without avail. Before I
left the jail, Timothy Hansen, another (Continued on page 8)

The SAN FRANCISCO

Steeple

Not often in criminal his-
tory, the world over, has
there been perpetrated a
crime more horrible and
ghastly than the ruthless
murder of pretty Blanche
Lamont and Minnie Wil-
liams! Here is the real
story of how it happened

By H. W. CORLEY

EMURE and re Blanche Lamont

left the Normal School, in San Fran-
cisco, one afternoon—to disappear as com-
pletely as though the earth had opened and
swallowed her.

Theodore Durrant—medical student—an
ardent church-worker at Baptist Emanuel,
the “Hoodoo Church," which Blanche also
attended, was last seen with her.

“Blanche was no better than she should
bel’ sneered Durrant in a significant manner.

“He's a liar!" cried Minnie Williams, the
attractive chum of the missing girl, furious
at the baseless, cowardly insinuations of
Durrant.

Were her courageous words the cause of her
death?—for, not long afterward awful shrieks
echoed through the Church when ladies of the congregation came upon
the slaughtered, mutilated body that shortly before had been lovely
Minnie Williams.

Horror piled on horror! The nude body of pretty Blanche Lamont
was then found hidden far up in the Church steeple, appearing, at
first, under the peculiar half-light, almost like a wax figure.

LOSER examination, however, destroyed the statue-
{ like picture. The beautifully molded figure of the
young girl presented a terrible aspect.

Blanche Lamont had suffered a horrible death. The
flesh was bruised and blood-stained, with purple streaks about
the throat, showing the marks of strong, cruel fingers, whose
nail-prints were embedded in the delicate skin.

Her face was horribly distorted, as was Minnie Williams’;
her mouth, wide open in a horrible grimace, and her lips,
curled back from the teeth, showed the torture to which she
had been put before she died.

Like her friend Minnie’s, her dark hair was matted and
blood-clotted, and hung in confusion over her shoulders.

"Look!" cried the detective excitedly, pointing to a block
of wood on which the head rested. “That's the way they lay
out stiffs in the autopsy room at a medical school. A doctor—
or a medical student—did the trick!”

Her body was wrapped in a sheet and tenderly brought
down the stairs, on which detectives found strands of her

MURDERS

i

She saw a
sight that
terrified her
very soul

She had been killed below, that was clear, and

lovely hair.
dragged to that hiding-place.

Buttons from her garments were found here and there on
the stairs, and the platform in the Church steeple was strewn
with her clothing. Girls wore more clothing in those days
than now, and there was a greater number of garments to be

accounted for. The Church was searched for several days
before they were all gathered together. Curiously enough,
they were all hidden separately, even the shoes, hose and
gloves. One of the latter was never found.

One or two of the girl's garments were found shoved in
shallow places under the eaves of the Auditorium, where the
murderer had to crawl on all fours to hide them.

The autopsy showed that the girl had not died of asphyxia-
tion, as the smell of gas in the steeple had suggested, but had
died from strangulation.

The brains, the lungs, were congested; the larynx and
trachea were compressed on one side, seven cuts in her flesh
were apparent. Her body had literally been crushed together,
which made an internal examination impossible.

She, too, had struggled to protect her honor—and, like
Minnie Williams, had died in the fight!

“Find Theodore Durrant,” echoed the cry throughout the
entire city. “He killed Blanche Lamont! He killed Minnie
Williams! Find medical student Durrant!”

61

62

The news of the discovery of the body of the missing
girl spread like wildfire all over the city of San Francisco.

It was ascertained later, that Theodore Durrant, at that
moment with the Signal Corps at Mount Diablo, had helped,
with utter unconcern, flash the news of the dreadful secret
which the Church steeple had revealed.

Detective Anthony left San Francisco at once to bring
back the suspect. He caught Durrant on the road between
Walnut Creek and Mount Diablo, in company with some other
Signal Corps members.

San Francisco was in an uproar. At five o’clock word came
that Durrant was on his way back, in the custody of Detective
Anthony, and the city rejoiced.

Durrant was smiling, not a whit embarrassed at his plight,
insisting courteously that his arrest had been a mistake, and
that he could prove himself innocent.

His rather glassy, blue eyes and pale face were not highly
suggestive of such hideous, fiendish perversion and lust as
the crime indicated; neither, on the other hand, did they,
in the least, suggest charm and attraction. Yet there were,
nevertheless, young women in town who regarded him as
dashingly handsome and pitied him in his distress!

Not a few of them openly scoffed at the idea of his guilt.
That steady church-going young man a murderer! It was
absurd!

At the ferry landing he was met by a surging, angry
crowd of people who had waited for hours to catch sight of
him.

Their shouts of vengeance, making the air hideous, did not
in the least alarm him. He showed no fear, even when detec-
tives rushed him to the patrol wagon to protect him from the
jibes and maltreatment of the mob.

Up and down the city of San Francisco flew the news—
“Blanche Lamoni's murderer has been caught!" .

Could it be true? Was this quiet, well-disposed young
man, this ardent church-worker guilty of this shocking crime?
There was nothing exceptional about him to the casual
observer—nothing -in his manner of life to mark him a
murderer—or in his heritage or associations.

He had never, as far as most people knew, been seen in the
company of Blanche Lamont when her Aunt was not with
them. It was all a terrible mistake, many people insisted!
He was just a simple, misunderstood boy, without
brilliancy or wealth, who had made love to this girl but who

had nothing to do with her disappearance or murder. It
was absurd!

URRANT'S ease of manner did much to strengthen this
attitude among those who, from the beginning, were dis-
posed to believe in his innocence.

He met every accusation with glib and patient explanation.
The purse which had been found in his coat? To be sure!
He had found it on the sidewalk just outside Doctor Vogel's
house on his way to the Young People's meeting!

As he walked along, his foot had struck a small mirror
which, evidently, had dropped out of the purse, which he
next discovered, lying open on the pavement a few feet away.
He picked it up, intending to turn it over to his Mother, but
had forgotten to do so.

The purse was identified by Minnie Williams’ heart-broken
father as belonging to the dead girl, and Durrant smiled
coolly when he heard the news.

Then someone came forward and said that he had been
waiting at the ferry at about the time Minnie would have
arrived from Alameda, and that he had seen Durrant there.

But Durrant denied ever having been there and denied
having written the note asking permission to see her—a note
which, by the way, was never produced in evidence.

He claimed that he arrived at the Young People's meeting
late because he had left his house late. That was quite
simple, he said, to the most obtuse mind, And, in this state-
ment, his Mother supported him. Yes, Theodore had left
his house very late and had rushed right to Doctor Vogel's,
as he was anxious to partake in the evening's fun. .

True Detective Mwsteries

Yet, in spite of this assurance, a member of the Signal
Corps swore that he had met Durrant at 8 o'clock that eve-
ning on the corner near Doctor Vogel's house! They had
stopped a moment or two to chat about theexpected departure
of the Signal Corps on the following day.

AT the trial Durrant was a dapper figure. He wore a

fragrant flower in the lapel of his black coat; his gray
trousers were carefully creased, his shoes pofished like a
mirror.

The crowds who flocked to the trial regarded him with re-
pulsion, and yet fascination. Certain women won dubious
publicity by writing him silly letters, professing their love
and assuring him of their belief in his innocence.

The mob which followed the police van as he rode from the
prison to the Court-house was divided between those who
plied him with sympathy and those who heaped abuse upon
him. But he was impervious to it all, whether shouts of en-
couragement or vilification.

On the table before the Prosecuting Attorney were the ex-
hibits of the trial—the three rings which had belonged to
Blanche Lamont and which had been worn to her doom, her
shoes, and one of her gloves, (the other was missing).

There was a model of the steeple and the Church. A large
French doll, representing the girl, was manipulated by wit-
nesses to show how she had been lying when her body was
found.

Her clothing, draped on a dressmaker's model, portrayed
Blanche Lamont as she had entered on that last journey at
whose end death was waiting.

*The evidence in this connection was touching, horrifying! '
Men wiped their eyes at the repeated accounts of how the
poor girl had lain in the steeple. Women screamed, several
fainted.

Yet, in spite of all this excitement and emotion, the accused
sat almost bored, plainly indifferent. His family rallied
about him; his Mother, faithful in her insistence that he was
innocent; his Father, with pale, set lips rushing about to
turn his small properties into cash for the defense of his son.

In the course of the trial Durrant coldly denied everything
of which he had been accused. He denied every step of the
Prosecutor's chain of evidence. He was consistent, unhurried,
unabashed.

He had not seen Blanche Lamont, he said, on the after-
noon of her disappearance. But he had seen her that same
morning.

"| met her on her way to school and asked her to
go around with me to organist King's house, as I wanted to
ask him to go to the Church with me, later, to fix the gas-
burner. But she said that she was afraid to go with me; she
would be late for her classes. I decided, therefore, to put off
my visit to King and to take her directly to the Normal School.

"We took a street-car and she got off at the School. I
went on, transferring twice, until I reached Cooper Medical.

“T went to class that morning, and, instead of lunching as
usual at the Webster restaurant, I bought some nuts and
strolled about eating them, during the luncheon period."

He mentioned several classmates whom he had met and
with whom he had talked. He spoke of the various
classes, said that he saw a notice on the bulletin board to the
effect that Doctor Stillman would not lecture that day, and
insisted that, at the time of his supposed entrance to the
Church with Blanche Lamont, he was attending class on the
care and feeding of infants, conducted by Doctor Cheney.

Doctor Cheney said that Durrant—or someone—had
answered his name at the roll call. "But," pointed out the
Doctor, “as an alibi, that fact is entirely unreliable. The
students, I regret to say, almost automatically respond to a
name when there is not an immediate answer. He might, or
might not, have answered it himself."

No one came forward who admitted having answered
Durrant's name in class, but, on the other hand, no
one could be found who had positively seen Durrant at that
recitation.

The San Francisco Steeple Murders

Glaser, a fellow student, admitted that Durrant had asked
him if he might glance over the notes he had taken in
that class, and Durrant confirmed this quite cheerfully. He
said that it was a frequent habit of his, as he was rather care-
less about paying attention to lectures, and his own notes
were never reliable.

PALE and sallow-faced, Durrant was equally self-possessed

and glib with the Prosecutor. He told how he had left
the Medical School at about four-thirty, arriving, therefore,
at the Church shortly before five and a little time before King,
the organist.

He was indifferent, reckless, defiant, egotistical, even happy
before the scathing wrath of the State.

He told, in undisturbed fashion, of his entering the Church
alone, of going to mend the gas-burner, and of being affected
by the escaping gas. Then he heard King at the organ,
he said, and hastened down to speak to him. But he
was so overcome that he could only ask for some bromo
seltzer.

“Do you not know—you, a half-fledged doctor—that if
you were partially asphyxiated,
bromo seltzer would not revive
you, but kill you?” roared the Pros-
secutor!

“Tt didn't kill me!” naively replied
Durrant. “I left the Church and
walked along with King because I
wanted to talk to him, and because
the air, I felt, would do me good. I
went home, ate supper, feeling
much better, walked with my
Mother to the street-car she was
taking, and then, later,
went to the Church,

“T had a book which I
wished to loan Miss La-
mont.

“As you know, I did
not meet her there that
evening, for she failed to
attend the meeting. I H8
never saw her again after
I left her that morning at
the Normal School." n

He was asked why he
had been loitering about
the ferry landing on the day of
Minnie Williams’ disappearance and
he explained it in this fashion.

A man had come up to him on the
street, he said, and told him that
Blanche Lamont, who was still
alive, was expected to arrive by
ferry boat “at any hour!’ The
mysterious man had recognized
Durrant as one of the Church mem-
bers interested in the search for the
missing girl. Durrant was there at the landing, he main-
tained, in the hope of meeting Blanche, and persuading her to
return to her family!

But, badly muddled in the cross examination, Durrant
presented a strikingly guilty aspect. He was forced to admit
to the Court that, though he had seen a number of the missing
girl's friends, and although they had discussed her, he had not
chosen to mention this message given him by the stranger!

He had not even -mentioned it to Doctor Vogel, to whom
even so remote a hint that the girl was alive would have been
most welcome.

Why had Durrant not told this to the girl's family and the
searching party, who were all desperately eager for every
slightest clue?

And why had he allowed the mysterious stranger to depart
without making some attempt to hold him, and force what-

63

ever news he had from him? Why hadn't he told the police?

All this Durrant explained either most unsatisfactorily, or
left without attempt at explanation. His attorney was rest-
less during this process, but Durrant, after recovering from
the storm of the Prosecutor's examination, accompanied the
jury coolly enough on a trip to the scene of the crime, with
perfect courtesy as always, but little interest in the proceed-
ings.

URRANT was, in fact, the only one not deeply affected
by the recital of the girl’s horrible death and the dis-
covery of the mutilated body.

He stood, sphinx-like and cool, in the little room leading
off the library of the Church, while the Prosecutor told the
story of how Minnie Williams had been found—slashed and
still bleeding—and pointed to the gruesome stains still on
ceiling, floor and walls,
which bore witness
only too clearly of the
terrible death struggle.

Durrant walked up
the stairway to the

She said that
she was afraid
to go with me

EORR, |
à "S al

u

steeple chamber without faltering, while
the horror-stricken jury listened to the
description of the discovery of Blanche’s body, nude and
mutilated, under the eaves. When they descended. he was
the only one who was not visibly shaken, and he brushed the
dust from his attire with a hand which was steady and calm!

The doctor who, at the trial, examined his finger-nails in
an effort to connect them with the scratches on the throat of
the victim said that, while they were cut rounded, instead
of square, as had been the nails of the girl’s assailant, they
had been newly rounded, presumably trimmed from square
finger-nails which could have inflicted the wounds. Durrant
met his testimony calmly, with a supercilious smile.

Two surprise witnesses for the Prosecution failed to disturb
him and, although it seemed as if he had difficulty, at times,
in retaining his equanimity, nevertheless he did retain it.

Adolph Oppenheimer, second-hand dealer, testified that
Durrant had tried to scll him the rings displayed in Court as

64 True Detective Mysteries

belonging to Blanche Lamont; and a friend of the Durrant
family—Mrs. Crossett—swore that she had seen him on the
street-car at about 4:10 P.M. with a girl answering to Blanche
Lamont's description, going in the general direction of the
Church.

The chain of evidence tightened about him and, as time
went on, it became overwhelming, though entirely circum-
stantial.

Everybody believed him guilty of the Williams murder, as
well as of the slaying of Blanche Lamont, but he was tried
for the first crime only, so that, if he escaped the noose in
that instance, the State had still another chance, by a trial
for the death of Minnie
Williams, to bring him
to punishment.

The State was eleven
days in apprehending
the murderer, and nearly
three years in bringing
him to justice. The trial
dragged on as one of the
most sensational ever
appearing in a United
States court, certainly
in the courts of Cali-
fornia.

For the first three or
four days after his ap-
prehension Durrant had
been nervous, strangely
at contrast with his
later calm, which, ex-
perts said, could not
have been equaled by
one man in a thousand
under such trying con-
ditions.

He would awake at
night in his cell, scream-
ing violently, but, later,
he conquered this habit
and slept as calmly and
soundly as a child.

His attitude won him
many supporters; many
who had at first believed
him guilty now thought
him unjustly accused.
Women from all over the
country sent him letters
and telegrams; a few won notoriety by sending him flowers,

and showering him with attentions.

in mind?

$3 to the third.

28th, 1929.

Second Prize $5

Las Vegas, New Mexico

BUT. gradually, certain rumors spread about town which
belied the fine esteem in which Durrant had been held
by many churchgoers.

Certain of his young men friends admitted confidentially
that Durrant had not, after all, been the exemplary -young
man he was believed, but had had frequent entanglements
with women.

He had boasted to not a few of them of these affairs, had
named married women and young girls in his gay insinua-
tion—women of excellent repute in the Church parish. He
had boasted of a relationship with Blanche Lamont, and told
stories of how he and three older men, on a trip to Carson
City, had outraged an Indian woman—a story which rather
neatly dovetailed with certain facts concerning an Indian
woman found mutilated and outraged in a manner similar to
the two unfortunate victims of Emanuel Church.

Certain young girls of the parish confided to their parents
that Durrant had attempted to attack them, and had lured
them to the Church but had been interrupted, whereupon
they had made their escape.

One girl said that she had gone to the Church with him on

CASH FOR OPINIONS

WHEN you have read this issue of TRUE
DETECTIVE MYSTERIES Magazine, let us
know what you think of the stories it contains.
Which story is best? Which do you like the
least? Why? Have you any helpful suggestions

Ten dollars will be paid to the person whose
letter, in the opinion of judges in charge of these
awards, offers the most intelligent, constructive
criticism; $5 to the letter considered second best;

Address your opinions to the Judges of Award
c/o TRUE DETECTIVE MYSTERIES, 1926 Broad-
way, New York N, Y. This contest closes February

Three awards will be made promptly.

PRIZES
for opinions on the
October TRUE DETECTIVE MYSTERIES
were awarded as follows:

First Prize $10

Miss Anne Farrell
Skyvue Farm, Salt Point, New York

an errand—he had promised to take her home if she would go
around by the Church with him—and that she had waited
for him in the library.

He had re-entered, she said, by a different door than the
one she had expected. Then she saw a sight that terrified her
very soul—he had crept up behind her, entirely unclothed,
and with a vicious look on his face!

The door through which he entered had been locked behind
him, but the girl managed to escape—perhaps from a fate
like that of Minnie and Blanche—through another door
which, evidently, he had forgotten to fasten, She had never
told her mother, she had been too frightened ; nevertheless, she
had always, thereafter,
kept out of Durrant's
way. When she heard
the news of Minnie's
terrible death she had at
once thought of Theo-
dore Durrant and had
shuddered to think that
she, too, might be dead
had she not been suc-
cessful in escaping.

(Q'EER young girls
told of similar ex-
periences—accosted by
Durrant, who had ap-
peared suddenly before
them, nude and menac-
ing.

This, then, explained
why, if he had killed Min-
nie Williams, his clothes
were not blood-stained.

Closer and closer was
drawn the net which
would take him to the
gallows.

Dapper and calm,
however, Durrant bore
his ordeal without
flinching.

Third Prize $3 HE Defense con-

—À E Bon ducted itself in a

: Plain St. thoroughly skilful, if not

Prondeno, made aana altogether laudable
manner.

In rather unscrupu-
lous fashion it made much of the fact that the Reverend
Mr. Gibson had been questioned closely by the police in re-
gard to the strange murder of Minnie Williams which took
place within the sacred precincts of which he was the
spiritual custodian.

It pointed out that the minister, Mr. Gibson, as well as
Durrant, knew every part of the church, and had access to it
at all hours—that he, too, possessed keys to every possible
room in the building.

It pointed out, in a significant fashion, that it had been the
Reverend Mr. Gibson who had begged the undertaker to des-
troy all traces of the crime and had insisted on trying to wash
away the blood-stains. This was not, the Defense said, because
of outraged horror, but because of the fear of exposure!

And why not, indeed, attribute the same motive to Mr,
Gibson as had been attributed to Durrant—a lustful perver-
sion? Did he not deserve this as much as Durrant?

The Prosecution was asked to prove that Durrant had been
in the Church with Blanche Lamont long enough—assuming
that Mrs. Leak’s statement had been true—to have killed
the girl. It was asked to prove that she had been killed
before five o'clock, when King, the organist, had seen Durrant,
and not immediately after, or even a few days after that
timer (Continued on page 103)

True Detective Mysteries

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Mothers handling children's food
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66

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knows half the truth
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When does it begin to be misinforma-
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True Detective Mysteries

Tracked Through Chinatown

(Continued from page 52)

What he had said was, "Bad Chinese in
gray suit watching you!" But the implied
danger wasn't what amazed me. It was that
he had spoken Chinese—knew I would un-
derstand! Then I felt the paper in my fin-
gers. Fighting to recover my nerve, I closed
the door and lighted a match. Instantly
some of the mystery vanished. Upon the
paper—oí an unusual blue tone—was a
single character; a Chinese symbol which,
liberally translated, meant "Good luck!"
(See illustration on page 52). I had re-
ceived such messages in the past and on
paper of the same identical blue color.
Each time they had been left by old Lok,
inside my package of laundry, when I
was not at home to receive him. There
could be but one explanation. I was be-
ing trailed and watched over by some of
his men. One of these had warned me of
imminent danger. He had given me the
paper so I would know he was to be
trusted.

Still a bit dazed, I thrust the paper into
a pocket. If I had been so closely watched,
old Lok must know I had recovered the
packet hidden by his boy in the train. He
had made no attempt to recover it, know-
ing I would keep it out of the hands oí his
enemies. But the Chinaman in the gray
suit was an enemy of mine, possibly a
Hip Sing intent upon killing me. These
thoughts were rapidly revolving in my
mind whetr I detected a slight sound. The
door-knob was being turned! Reaching
up, I turned out the spluttering gas flame,
plunging the hallway into blackness, then
stepped back and set myself. Slowly the
door was pushed inward. By the feeble
light from without I saw a man's form
silhouetted—a crouched form with a re-
volver thrust before it. Waiting until he
was one step inside, I let go from the
shoulder, sending my fist crashing into his
face and knocking him bellowing and kick-
ing into the street. But he fired as he fell
and I felt the hot breath of the bullet as
it sang by my cheek. Slamming the door,
I raced to the rear yard, darted across it
and climbed the stairway to the room of
"The Mouse." The door was unlocked,
but he was not there.

From a distance came the shrill shrieks
of police whistles, and, much nearer,
sounds of commotion. Realizing I was in
Hip Sing territory and that confederates
of the man I had bested were searching
for me—bent upon wreaking vengeance—
I decided to remain in hiding there. But
I held my automatic ready, determined to
try to fight my way out if discovered.
Hours dragged by. I counted them by the
strokes from a distant church. The sounds
from without gradually subsided.

ROUND two o'clock I heard a stum-

bling step upon the stairs. Then
someone entered and lighted a lamp. I
recognized the wizened face and figure of
“The Mouse.” He almost collapsed when
I made my presence known, but recovered
quickly, as lack of funds had kept him off
the "hop" that day. He was unaware of
Nellie's whereabouts, but knew she could
be reached if a note were left at a certain
drug shop—he refused the address—where
both purchased narcotics. I gave him my
note and $5.00 and promised him as much

more, when next I saw him, if she re-
ceived it.

He had heard about the fight. The man
I had toppled over was Lee Foon, a Hip
Sing leader. "The Mouse" knew it would
be certain death for me to leave by the
front door, so he piloted me through an
underground passage which led írom the
cellar past an opium dive, and ended in the
basement of a filthy restaurant in the
Bowery. We passed a few persons, both
whites and Chinese, but his presence was
sufficient guarantee to get me by without
questioning. We separated as soon as we
reached the street.

During my skulking roundabout trip to
my hideout I realized that, in white man's
garb, I was certain to be trailed by both
friendly and enemy spies. How the former
knew me I could only guess. The latter,
probably, had become suspicious of me be-
cause of my continued presence in the
quarter. Prudence urged that I go out no
more unless disguised as a Chinese. Yet,
this had its drawbacks. I never had been
spotted when so disguised. But it might
be necessary for me to see Captain Calvin
on short notice. To go to him in Oriental
costume was certain to be noted by native
spies. And once they learned how I
looked when I had changed my facial
make-up, halí my usefulness in the quar-
ter would be gone—probably I would be
murdered at the first favorable opportun-
ity. All told, it was best that I remain a
white man and také my chances of being
attacked from behind.

For two days and nights I waited impa-
tiently at home for Nellie, not daring to
be absent when she came. From the news-
papers I learned there had been no further
killings, which satisfied me I was not
needed outside. Early in the morning oí
the third day she appeared, carrying a
basket as though she were bringing
"wash." She had not received my note
until the night previous, the first time she
had been to the drug shop in a week.
Aíter greetings, I detailed everything I
knew of the case, my narrow escapes, and
asked what actually was behind the im-
pending tong war.

ER story, in brief, was this: Len Yok

Chun, president of the On Leong Tong
until the last election; Len Tang, his
cousin; Hing-Gow, their chief lieutenant
and 48 other members of the Society, all
of them powerful in the order, had for
years been using the funds of the tong for
their own purposes, principally to gamble
and to spend on white women.

“I know Chun and Tang by sight," I
interrupted. "Which is the brains?"

"Tang. He is as clever as a rat. What-
ever he got has been spent to buy or keep
various white women—rather girls."

Continuing, she said the honest Leong
members had suspected the theíts, but had
been unable to check-up because Chun—
though no longer president—controlled the
executive council made up of former office
holders, his intimate satellites.

Finally, the tong decided to do something
drastic. All the younger members sallied
forth and every Chinese, not a Hip Sing,
who visited the quarter was compelled to
become an On Leong, under threat, if they
refused, to be sent speedily to Paradise

by the hatchet route. When a sufficient
number to outvote Chun’s side was en-
rolled, a special meeting was called. All
the new members attended and an audit
of the books was voted. It was reported
this disclosed that Chun and his followers
had embezzled nearly $175,000.00 in bank
deposits, Liberty Bonds and bonds of the
then new Chinese Republic.

3y the time the thefts were disclosed,
Chun and his lieutenants had fled to Cleve-
land, where they joined the Hip Sings,
paid $10,000.00 in cash for protection and
defied the Leongs. Yet Wung, an “under
cover” man for the Hip Sings was put
away for double dealing, and as a warn-
ing to the renegades. The Leongs had
made a demand upen the Hip Sings to pay
the full amount stolen, and a fine, by the

New Year. The response was a refusal,
coupled with a statement that the Hip
Sings would protect the fine gentlemen

who had joined their honorable body and
that the Leongs were blackmailers and
liars!

"FTNHAT'S what the Chinese in the quar-

ter have been talking about for
months,” Nellie continued, “with the police
in ignorance of what was brewing until a
few days ago. It will be the biggest tong
war the country ever saw. It would be
in full swing now if Chun and his backers
had been brave enough to come here and
fight. If they don't come the Leongs will
go after them."

"But why have you been hiding out?"

"That's another story; one that mighty
few know. Listen, you remember little
Josie Cleary? She lived here when you
were a detective in the quarter."

I replied in the affirmative and discussed
the girl, the pretty daughter of a widow
who lived on the edge of Chinatown and
sewed for the women there. The girl was
liked by whites and Orientals alike be-
cause of her sweet disposition, and her
dancing whenever a hand-organ appeared
on the scene.

“Josie’s mother died some years ago.
Then old Tom Fu Low—you remember
him—very wealthy, but who had been be-
friended by Josie's father when he was a
struggling immigrant merchant, practically
adopted the girl. He had been paying for
her clothes and schooling, and she will-
ingly went to live with the old man be-
cause she had no relatives, knew only the
quarter and learned to look upon him as a
true friend."

"How old is Josie now?”

“Seventeen and pretty as a doll. Some
time ago Tang decided he wanted her.
He offered to buy her from Tom Fu Low
and was refused. Then he threatened to
steal her. Fearful he would do so, Tom
took the girl from school and has since
kept her in his home at Number — Bay-
ard Street, and always has a Leong gun-
man there to watch over her. He was
one of those who exposed the thefts of
Chun and the others, which makes Tang
doubly anxious to cause him trouble. Be-
fore going to Cleveland, Tang made a last
effort to buy Josie, offering $10,000.00 in
cash. Since then, I have been with her
most of the time. I hoped to protect her
when the real trouble broke, knowing that,
in the excitement, Tang would attempt to
steal her.”

“But why doesn’t Tom take her away?”

“He’s afraid to leave the quarter, where

True Detective Mysteries

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True Detective Mysteries

the Leongs are protecting them. I can't
persuade him to leave. It’s madness, but
he believes he’s provided against sudden
attack. In addition to a guard at all times,
there is a secret door in his quarters lead-
ing to a steel-walled room below ground
where they can hide until help comes.
Besides, he keeps a poisonous snake in a
casket which he would release if anyone
broke in, thus enabling them to get away
while the intruders were checked by the
reptile. - You know how a Chino fears a
snake !"

“But he's crazy, Nellie! A room filled
with snakes won't save him if the Hips
really mean business.”

“I know, but he won't listen, and Josie
does as he says. I am going back to them,
but I want to keep in touch with you, for
you must help me get them away if things
become too bad."

Then we planned carefully and I ar-
ranged to keep the landlady of my hide-
out posted where I would be each day. If
in the city I would respond to her sum-
mons instantly. If absent, a telegram
would bring me on the jump.

Later in the day I visited Captain Cal-
vin, confided my new information—all ex-
cept that pertaining to Old Tom Fu Low
and Josie—and advised that he communi-
cate with the Cleveland police and have
them notify Chun, Tang and the rest oí
the crew that if they appeared in New
York City they would be arrested and all
without proper chuckchees would be de-
ported. The reason I didn't tell of Tom
and his ward was that I hoped the Leongs
would be able to protect them. White
detectives surely would overplay their
parts and frighten away his armed guards.

My scheme worked. The renegades de-
cided New York would prove too hot for
them just then, and, from the inside, I
learned the tong war was off—íor the
time being. However, I warned the Cap-
tain that the truce would not be perma-
nent, that the injury done the Leongs
could be washed out only with blood and
that, sooner or later, trouble would come.
I explained that, next time I might be so
situated I could not come to his aid and
that he must take the necessary precau-
tions. When I returned to Washington I
found the laundry of old Lok closed.
From the police I learned that the com-
plainant against his boy had not appeared,
and the latter had been discharged. He
and Lok had not been seen since. My
guess was that old Lok was in some hide-
out, waiting for a favorable opportunity
to send another order to remove Chun and
his confederates.

I promptly took up my regular work,
but with a determination to go to Nellie’s
assistance whenever summoned me.
If I could prevent it, no yellow crook
was going to ruin the life of little Josie.

OR some

she

months matters ran along

smoothly. Nellie and I communicated
through my landlady and she sent me a
picture of the girl which showed her to be
really beautiful. Tom Fu Low remained
fearful, and he and his ward seldom left
their home, and then only under strong
guard. None knew better than he that
the truce would be broken some day. But
the police, including Captain Calvin, were
fooled. The police guard in the quarter
was reduced to a mere handful and life in
Chinatown, on the surface, proceeded with
its customary drone.

The long delayed war actually broke on
the night of October 8th, when Lem Hank,
a Delancey Street restaurant owner, was
shot dead and five other Chinese of oppos-
ing tongs were wounded in pistol battles
in various sections of the lower East, Side.

The police were aroused. More than 150
men were poured into the quarter, two
dozen Orientals were arrested and held,

and much ammunition and many revolvers
were seized. But a regiment of blue-coats
could no longer stem the tide of pent-up
hate. Immediately afterward Chow Wong,
a laundryman, was killed in Schenectady,
New York. Sal Him and Sam Wing
were murdered openly in Chicago; then
the tide of battle swung back to New
York, where Tong Woo, a merchant,
passed out with six bullets in his body.
By October 17th, the Chinese dead in va-
rious portions of the country had reached
a total of twelve and each day added new
outrages. I was like a caged tiger. I
longed to be in the thick of the fray doing
my bit for law and order. But I was
needed in Washington to map out a new
plan to combat the opium smugglers, who
continued operations despite the tong war.
Finally Nellie notified me that Chun,
Tang and some of their men were in New
York directing the Hip Sing gunmen, but
stated that no effort had been made to
molest Tom Fu Low and Josie.

I T was in early November that a Cleve-
land newspaper dispatch informed me
that the On Leongs of Cleveland had sworn
out a warrant for Chun, charging him with
attempting to swindle the branch there out
of $75,000.00. I obtained the address of
Chun’s hideout from Nellie by telegraph
and promptly repeated it to Captain Calvin
over long distance telephone, asking that
Tang also be taken into custody.

Chun was arrested, but Tang was not
located. Then came another lull in hos-
tilities while white lawyers battled in the
courts to keep Chun from being extra-
dited to Cleveland. And again the New
York police announced through the news-
papers that the war was over. That made
me furious! Over? It was just warming
up! And Nellie confirmed this knowledge
by informing me that some 70 gunmen
from Seattle and other coast cities had
been imported for the next clash.

The day after Thanksgiving a General
Sessions Judge ruled that Chun must be
turned over to the Cleveland authorities.
Within the ensuing twenty-four hours
Gong Chong Foon, a Hip Sing, was shot
to death in the Bronx, and Kok Hun, a
Leong, was hacked to death while he slept
in Manhattan. Re by the score were
arrested, pleaded “Not Guilty, ' with their
tongues in their cheeks, were admitted tí
bail and the war went on.

On December Ist, I received the long
anticipated summons from Nellie. It
came in the form of a special delivery

letter, as she desired to say more than
could be put in a code telegram. Things
in the quarter were very bad. Though

Chun had been taken to Cleveland, Tang
remained in charge of the Hip Sing killers
She did not know where he was concealed,
but believed he was behind an attempt,
made two days previously, to break into
Tom Fu rooms. It was only be-
cause the entrance to the Bayard Street
apartment was protected by an ice-box
door that the intruders were kept at bay
until old Tom telephoned, and Leong

Low's

bravos came and drove the others away.
That night Nellie had succeeded in spirit-
ing Josie to the top floor rear apartment
at No. — Elizabeth Street, some distance
from the quarter. They were together
there and hoped their place of concealment

would not be discovered until I came to
their rescue.

I caught an afternoon train, taking
nothing with me but two automatics, one

in each outer coat pocket. Reaching New
York I decided that time was too precious
to make attempt at disguise. If I
bumped into enemy gunmen I was in just
the humor to shoot it out with them, in
the streets or elsewhere! Hailing a taxi,
I directed the driver to take me to a point
just outside Chinatown. I intended to see
old Tom Fu Low first, telling him where
I intended to take Josie and Nellie, and
obtain from him sufficient funds to last
them until a definite peace was established,
and Tang put where he could do no
further harm—which might be a matter
of months.

Leaving my cab I skirted the quarter
and made for the Bayard Street hideout
of Tom Fu Low from the Bowery end.
I made no effort to note if I were fol-
lowed, speed being my principal considera-
tion just then. When I reached the tene-
ment I was amazed to note three detec-
tives in the doorway, one of them a
former side-kick, Jake Skelly. He recog-
nized and admitted me and I drew him
aside with, “What are you fellows doing
here?”

“Protecting old Tom
know him, the wealthy

“I know him all right and all about this
tong war. But why the protection?”

“The Hip Sings have tried to rush the
place twice, and each time there was a
battle, some of his Leong friends helping
him. No one was killed though. The last
attempt was this afternoon, and Captain
Calvin ordered us to stick around and see
that no Chinamen went inside.”

"You're watching the door;
about the roof?”

Skelly glanced toward the blackness
overhead. “Oh, we got a man watching
the roofs.”

"I've got some particular business with
Tom. When did you see him last?"

"I was up about an hour ago and talked
with him through the door. He keeps it
locked all the time; afraid even with us
down here. It’s all right for you to
go up."

any

Fu Low. You

but how

HANKING Jake, I hurried up the
confident I could get old Tom to
open for me when I disclosed my identity.
AS I reached the upper hallway, poorly
lighted by a single jet, I noted the formid-
able door at the end and wondered what I
would do if he refused to open it. Then
some strange force, for the moment,
seemed to numb me all over. Along the
edge of the door I thought I saw a streak
of light. If the door were closed no light
from within would show. Jf open.
Drawing a gun I fairly leaped to the
door. It was ajar. Swinging it wide I
stepped into a brilliantly lighted
chamber cluttered with Oriental trappings.
No one was there, I called Tom's name.
No reply! Only ominous silence. Clos-
ing the door I moved to the room beyond.
But I halted on the threshold! Before me
was a scene which sent a hot flush oí blis-
tering anger over me.

stairs

inside,

Stretched across a

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True Detective Mysteries

69

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True Detective Mysteries

divan lay a Chinese — probably Tom's
Leong guard—literally hacked to death.
Crossing I picked up the weapon at his
side. It had not been fired. He had been
murdered from behind.

I looked about for Tom. He was there,
also dead, stretched beside an ornate desk,
a steel blade protruding from his breast,
his features contorted into lines of awful
agony. Then I saw something else. Upon
the desk was an overturned ink-pot. And
just beyond his stiffened fingers was a
brush and a bit of paper. Old Tom had
not been killed outright. Even as he had
died he had scrawled a final message. I
picked it up and read the Chinese charac-
ters: “Hip Sing Tong"—and part of the
name “Tang”:

His enemy had gotten to him—killed
him and his guard. He had left by the
door, but I wondered how he had managed,
when entering, to pass the police cordon
and surprise the pair before they could
defend themselves. Hurrying through the
rooms to the rear, I found the dumb-
waiter door open. That explained it. The
yellow devil probably had entered the cellar
through some subterranean passage un-
known even to Tom, had climbed the rope
and: v os

HEN I gave a groan. Had he also

discovered Josie’s hideout? Had he
gone there to steal her? Was I also go-
ing to be too late there? Jamming old
Tom’s last message into a pocket, I raced
down the stairs and fairly dragged the
detectives into the hallway. In snapped
sentences I told them what I had discov-
ered, that Tom had left a written message
stating Len Tang was his murderer and

directed them to summon Captain Calvin
and work fast.

“You're going with me," I said to Skelly.

“Where to?”

“Come on, damn it, and don’t ask ques-
tions,” and I fairly pushed him along. As
we turned into Elizabeth Street I led the
pace at a run and within minutes reached
the tenement on the top floor of which I
hoped Nellie and Josie still were safely
hidden. "I'm going up to get two white
women," I said. “You stay here and
hold up any Chink who tries to leave. If
a copper comes along send him to the rear
yard to do the same."

Pistol in hand I ran to the top floor.
But I kept on my toes so as to make no
sound. When I reached the doorway
which I sought, I bent and listened. I
caught the moans of a woman and the
pleadings of another. I regretted I had
not brought Skelly along but time was too
precious to summon him now. With gun
held ready, I turned the knob softly. The
door was fastened. Placing my gun
against the lock, I fired, blowing it from
its fastenings and, at the same instant,
leaped into the room.

What I saw forced a cry of rage from
me. In a corner lay Nellie, bound and
gagged. A girl, who I knew must be
Josie, crouched against a bureau, whimper-
ing. But what made me fairly see red was
a Chinese—I recognized Tang's ugly fea-
tures—who was ransacking a box of
jewels and stuffing them into his pocket.
His revolver lay on a bed beyond his
reach.

As he turned and saw me, his face
became livid withthe terror which set his
yellow blood churning. Kicking the door
shut, I started across the room. But,
quick as a flash, Len Tang seized the ter-
rifed girl and held her before him. I
cursed and tried to cover him, but Josie
fought and struggled so I dared not fire.

I set myself for a spring, but as I did
so he swept an arm across the bureau top,
hurling a glass casket to the center of the
room. It crashed into a thousand frag-
ments and a cobra glided from the wreck-
age, wound itself into a coil and began
swinging its hideous hooded head. I was
so startled I lowered my revolver for an
instant.

A shriek from the girl aroused me.
Tang was trying to drag her into the
inner room. Their struggles drew the at-
tention of the reptile. Dropping upon its
belly, it began wriggling toward the fran-
tic Josie. I recovered my wits in a flash,
and hurled my hat, striking the snake.
Instantly it coiled again, its beady eyes
fastened upon me. My weapon barked
twice, the bullets tearing through the

*'The Price of a Lie"

It must have been Satan himself, that made Nell steal that money hidden away
in the tool chest, spend it, and pretend that the house had been robbed. How
But the best laid plans of men and women go

carefully she planned everything!
astray, and Nell

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hooded head of the reptile, which sank }

writhing to the floor.

Upon this Tang flung the girl from him |

and dashed away. I raced after him. He

beat me to an open window and went up |

the fire-escape like a frightened monkey.
I caught his heels as he went over the
edge of the roof, then squirmed up beside

him. In the struggle I dropped my wea-
pon. Jut there were others on nearby
roofs who held tight to theirs. Bullets

began biting into the tin roof on all sides
of us. Tang's gunmen were firing wildly
in an effort to get me.

Clutching him firmly in a locked em-
brace, I rolled over and over with him into
the shadows. He fought like a madman,
forcing me to my feet. Back and forth
we swayed. An airshaít opening loomed
just ahead. With a mighty effort I broke
his grip, then struck him with full force.
He swept a clawing hand over my shoul-
der, swayed crazily, then plunged, with a
shrill, sickening cry of terror into the
black well. I heard a thud, then all was
still. I guessed I had sent Len Tang over
the long river.

PPOSITE me loomed the shed cover-

ing the entrance to the stairway to
the roof. I made a run for it, luckily
escaping the hail of bullets fired the in-
stant I came from the shadows. In sec-
onds I was back in Josie’s quarters. Skelly
was already there. He had come at the
sounds of the first shots and already had
freed Nellie. Josie clung to her, sobbing
with weariness and terror.

"I've got to get these women out of
the city, Jake," I shouted, slamming the
door against those I heard coming up the
stairs. "I just threw the Hip Sing who
killed old Tom írom the roof. He's dead,
I guess. Pass the word he was killed by
gunmen; part of the tong war—under-
stand? I'll come back and explain to
Captain Calvin later. And watch out!
There's a lot of valuable stuff here that
mustn't be stolen."

He nodded. The next moment, carrying
Josie and followed by Nellie, I made the
stairway and forced my way through a
crowd of frightened tenants, and police-
men. Skelly yelled to the latter and they
cleared a passage for me to the street
where, luckily, I located a nighthawk taxi
in which I removed my charges far from
the quarter.

—

ES, Tang was dead when he was picked
up. I managed to get Nellie and Josie
out of the city without further molestation.
Of course Nellie drifted back to the quar-
ter just as she always had done each time

I had taken her from there in the past.
But Josie didn’t. She is living with white
folks, far from any Chinese influence.

The fortune left her by old Tom Fu Low
will make her independent for life.

As for Chun, he was admitted to bail
when he reached Cleveland, then disap-
peared. The police believed he fled to
China. J know better. I left the re-
mainder of the tong war to the author-
ities. After weeks more of murder it was
terminated when the tongs decided their
blood lust had been satisfied—for the time

being. A peace pact was signed with
much ceremony, the police looking on,
smilingly. Peace lasted until—late the
same year! But that’s another story.

Some day I'll write about that war.

True Detective Mysteries

71

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True Detective Mysteries

How Guilty Was Mary Binetti?

(Continued from page 48)

vou, Mary," I tried to reassure her.
bring you back in a little while.
must go now <

For an instant she hesitated; then her

“py
But we

tear-stained face registered a sudden,
resigned determination.
“Wait!” she said gravely. “You get

my children. They playing in yard. Put
them in car. . . . I be with you in few
minutes—" Her deprecating, little smile
was pathetic. “I want wash my face... ."

I rounded up the ten year old boy and
his little sister, and bundled them into the
police car. I got into the driver's seat.

There we waited . . . three, four, five
minutes. I thought of the work piling up
at my office and became impatient. Coun-
seling the children to remain where they
were, I hurried into the house.

Mary's sister, Angelina, met me at the
door.

*Mary be out in little while," she assured
me. "She's in bathroom y

Intuition told me something was wrong.
Brushing past the startled girl, I ran to
the door of the bathroom and knocked
loudly. There was no response. I mo-
tioned to Angelina and told her to open
the door. She turned the knob, pushed it
backward a few inches, then recoiled with
a horrified shriek. ...

On the floor lay Mary Binetti, with
blood flowing in a crimson stream from a
five-inch gash across her throat. Nearby
lay an old-fashioned razor, where it had
fallen from her hand.

“Dio mio! Angelina! ... quick! Run
to the nearest phone and call the ambulance
... get a doctor—” I cried, as I grasped
the terrible significance of Mary’s desper-
ate act.

“Mary, Mary!” I knelt and cradled her
head in my arms. Her brown eyes opened
slowly, wearily, and I felt a great pity for
the unhappy creature.... At the same
time, I was an officer. I could not forget
that this woman’s life was probably ebbing
with the red drops trickling from her
throat . . . and I had been sent to clear up
a crime.

"Mary, speak to me! Tell me why you
did this thing. . . . I am your friend "
The gaze fixed on mine did not waver.

“E meglio cosi!" (“It is better so!") she
murmured, so low that I had to bend my
head to hear. “I killa him. . . . I wanna
die, now, please

“Did you kill Guy Binetti?” I asked.

An almost imperceptible nod of her head.

“You shot him . . . how many times?”

She lifted two fingers in a weak ges-
ture.

“Two times ... but why? Tell me the
truth, Mary . . .confess—before 4

"No... Mary not die yet—" A shad-
ow of a smile flickered across the drawn,
white face, and the lids dropped heavily
over the great limpid, brown eyes. "You
good man, Corsini—" she murmured.

T seemed hours before the wail of the

siren was heard; in reality, it was less
than ten minutes.

We carried Mary Binetti to the waiting
ambulance, which bore her swiftly to the
Georgia Street Receiving Hospital.

There, physicians stated that the selí-in-
flicted wound would not necessarily prove

fatal, as the jugular vein had not been
severed. However, the unfortunate woman
had lost so much blood that there’ was
doubt if she could withstand the shock of
ether, while the wound was being sewed
up.

As I bent over her, she opened her eyes
and looked into mine, fully conscious.

I gently informed her that she should
speak to me now, if there was anything
she wished to say....

YING on the operating-table, her head
propped high with pillows to enable
her to speak with the least possible difficul-
ty, she smiled feebly at me and told her
tragic story.

“I shoot Gaetano Binetti . . . he no let
me marry his brother, Costantino ... E
Costantino—mi a tradito!" (“And Costan-
tino betrayed me!") A sob tore through
her poor, bandaged throat. "I beg Costan-
tino marry me... he say no... Then
I go to Guy. I say he mus’ make Cos-
tantino marry me! He laugh. .. ." The
white hands lying on the bedspread
clenched tightly. “Guy say for me to mar-
ry another man ... man with one child
. . . jus’ over from Italy... ." A shadow
of the horror and loathing of that propo-
sal again darkened Mary's face, as she
whispered hoarsely: "I say no! No! No!
I am not woman for all men... it not
be right for me to marry this man after
Costantino have me for his! Then...
because Guy no lef me marry Costantino,
I killa him. Ho ucciso per vendicare il
mio onore . . . per il mio onore muoio!”
("I have killed to avenge my honor...
for my honor I am dying '")

"Mary!" I ended the brief silence
broken only by the woman's feeble sobs.
"Did you mean to shoot Concetta—Guy’s
wife?"

“Concetta? Oh, no, no! She innocent.

It was accident I shoot her, too . . .”

Here Captain Condaffer interrupted.

"How could you cut yourself, when
Officer Corsini was there, waiting for
you?"

“I tella you. When Corsini say, ‘An-
diamo (Come with me), Mary,’ I say for
him to wait few minutes, while I wash in
bathroom. Then I fin’ razor. . .. To my-
self I. say, ʻE meglio cosi!’ My fingers on
gun... ever'body know I kill Guy om

"I see," said Condaffer gravely. “But
why did you try to throw the blame on
those four men who came to see Guy last
March?”

Her gaze fell, and a flush slowly suf-
fused her pale face.

“T am 'shamed !"

The words came with
an effort. “I not want tell I did it, at
first. Now, I no care, only . . . Oh! I
miei poveri bambini!" (Oh, my poor, little
children!") Her quivering face in that
moment was truly that of a Mater
Dolorosa.

“But Concetta—she care for them for

me... Now, only one thing I want. . .”
Her voice rose suddenly, shrill, sharp. . . .
“One thing you do for me...” The

eves lifted to my face suddenly smouldered
with hate.

“What is that, Mary?” I asked.

“Kill Costantino Binetti . . . killa him

(Continued on page 74)

True Detective Mysteries

73

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True Detective Mysteries

(Continued from page 72)

for me! Ah! Quello scellerato! Mi a tra-
dito!" (“That wretch! He betrayed me!")

The burst of anger sapped her feeble
strength and she fell back fainting on the
pillows.

ROM friends in whom she had con-
fided, I learned more of Mary Binet-
tis sorrowful story.

It was while Mary, a widow with two
children, was keeping house for Guy Bin-
etti, prior to the coming of his wife from
Italy almost a year before, that she first
met his handsome brother, Costantino Bin-
etti, who lived near Santa Monica, a sub-
urb of Los Angeles. Costantino had made
love to her—a love which she had returned
with all the ardor of a simple, and intense-
ly passionate, nature. He was divorced,
and waiting for the issuance of the final
decree that would make him free to marry
again.....

He had importuned her to come to him,
pending the time when he could make her
his wife in name, with the sanction of
state and church. Mary had yielded. . . .

Then, during the month preceding the
murder, the fickle Costantino, satiated, told
the heart-broken, panic-stricken woman—
who even then knew she was to become a
mother—that he had “changed his mind.”

Many friends testified to her grief, her
despair, during those terrible weeks. To
an intimate woman friend she confided
that she had managed by crude and pain-
ful means to avert the impending tragedy
of giving birth to a nameless child. . . .
But her mind was shaken with storms of
emotion; hate and love by turns for the
man who had deceived her with false

promises; rage against Guy Binetti, who
took her devastating sorrows so lightly
that he not only refused to bring pressure
to bear upon his younger brother to make

him marry her, but urged her to find
another husband . . . and hinted that she
must leave his house. . . .

Then, apparently, came the moment, on
the night of August 7th, when fury and
hatred against Guy Binetti must have
swept reason from its already tottering
base, and, shotgun in hand, she tiptoed to
the open door of the room where he lay
asleep, aimed the weapon at the sleeping
figure on the bed, and pressed the trigger
twice Wve

ARY rallied from the effects oí the

ether, and lay for three days in a
semi-stupor. Occasionally, she called for
her lover, Costantino; again, she reviled
him for his baseness. But she made no
effort to live.

It was on August 12th, at two o'clock in
the morning, that a night-nurse, on her
rounds, heard a faint gasp and saw the re-
cumbent form of Mary Binetti shaken by
a brief, convulsive shudder. She hurriedly
bent over the bed, in the fear that her pa-
tient might be suffering pain. .. .

“Mary, my dear, what is it?”

There was no answer. Ineffable peace
lay upon the face of Mary Binetti. All her
earthly sorrows were over.

"E meglio cosi!" ("It is better so!")
Mary Binetti had said.

Perhaps she was right. ... Better
peace and oblivion, death by her own hand,
than the harrowisg procedure of a trial
and dreary years behind prison walls.

The Bunco Million!

(Continued from page 55)

two occasions, I had spotted Hutch and, in
accordance with the instructions not to
make any arrests myself, had notified
Deputy Brown.

By that time the keen mind of Wool-
wine sensed what I was leading up to, and
with a frown he said:

“You may be right, Cody, but I’m in-
clined to think not. I have the utmost
respect for and confidence in the deputies
you mention, and if anything wrong exists
in my department I would have learned of
we

I started to press my point, but he held
up his hand.

“Let’s not say any more about it. I ap-
preciate your sincerity in your beliefs, but,
unfortunately, cannot indorse them. Brown
may have been too slow in acting, and a
bit careless, but don’t forget that I and
all of my deputies have been snowed under
for months.”

“Tom,” I said earnestly, “forget that I
am a private detective for a minute; that
I have clients—victims of the ring—con-
cerned in this mess. I may not get a
nickel out of it all to repay me for the
time and expense this affair has cost me.
No matter! There is a limit to some
things, and political corruption in particu-
lar, If you turned a machine-gun loose on
Broadway, Los Angeles, you couldn’t keep
from hitting trusted public officials who
are so corrupt that a self-respecting buz-

zard wouldn't pick their bones!"

Woolwine smiled, tiredly.

“That's a pretty nasty picture, AL" His
lips drew together. "I suppose you could
furnish me a list of names of the officials
vou suspect ?"

I played my last card.

“T can," I said. “But suppose the list
includes some of your deputies?”

He didn't answer for a moment, his
chin thrust forward upon his breast.

“No—you can't be right on that angle,"
he said at last, decisively.

I shrugged, picking up my hat.

“All right, Tom," I said. "I guess I've
done all I can for your Department i

"You're not quitting?" he exclaimed.

"Im through—as a special deputy of
your office, unless you see fit to handle the
bunco situation yourself ——"

He threw up his hands, indicating the
pile of papers upon his desk.

“I? Cody, I'm simply inundated with
other matters. Forget it; bury the hatchet,
and go ahead with Brown on the case;
there’s only been a misunderstanding, I’m
sure.”

I shook my head, rising and thrusting
out my hand.

“Nothing doing, Tom,” I said, masking
my intense disappointment. “In a few
more seconds I shall be Al Cody, private
detective. And, as a private detective and

(Continued on page 76)

True Detective Mysteries 75

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True Detective Mysteries

(Continued from page 74)

a citizen of Los Angeles, I shall continue,
as best I can, with the case.”

A great gulf was between us now, and
we knew it as we gripped hands. With
formal parting salutations, the curtain rang
down upon one of the few scenes that were
played before the grand finale.

TENDERED my report and resigna-

tion to the Chief Deputy Prosecuting
Attorney; received some two hundred odd
dollars that was due me, and stepped to
the street once more a private detective—
and a private citizen. Behind me I left a
“blind” man, and others whom I knew I
could count among my enemies.

Before me stretched Los Angeles, the
city of my adoption—the “City of the
Angels”—now in the hands of devils!

No one knew the bitterness, the intense
loneliness, that obsessed me that day. Like
Diogenes of old, I would have liked to
hold a lantern in official high places in
search of an honest man.

The bunco men, of course, were against
nie; so were the authorities also; the Dis-
trict Attorney had failed me, and even the
victims of the ring were ready to double-
cross me, or, at least, consider their selfish
interests above any agreement they had
signed with me.

As if this wasn’t enough, my wife, very
pale and unstrung, told me, when I got
home, that she had seen strange men siz-
ing up the house from across the street.

"I'm worried, Albert; you must be care-
ful," she said.

I forced a smile, saying that I would.

That night I received a mysterious tele-
phone call. The voice was masculine, and
unfamiliar :

"Cody, this is a friend, and I want to
warn you!"

"I'm listening," I said irritably.

"Well, this is on the level, and don't
figure that I'm just some pest trying to
throw a scare into you. The bunks have
decided to do you in, and they mean busi-
ness now. Stick to the house; don't go out
in your back yard, or don't try to slip out
through the alley. Don’t even put your
garbage pail out at night, or there's liable
to be a gang in a car ready to fill you full
of holes. Honest to God, Cody, that's
straight dope, from a friend. Take it or
leave it "

And he hung up.

I didn't trace the call; knew that it was
not worth the trouble. While I was in-
clined to treat it lightly, there had been a
note of utter sincerity in the man's voice
that had made an impression.

I knew that I was in danger, and that
my wife and son were sick with fear, and
deciding that prudence was the better part
of valor, I arranged with the garbage man
to come to my door.

But I am essentially an active man, even
today, and I am past sixty. While I at-
tended to the essentials of my business
readily enough over the telephone, that
greatest of modern institutions, I soon
chafed under my virtual imprisonment.

After thirty-six hours or so, I decided
to come out of my hole, so to speak. Dur-
ing this period, while I had been in con-
stant touch with affairs, I had felt like a
trapped rat. Exercising a reasonable
amount of caution, I started coming and
going, at first in broad daylight, though
gradually I reached a point where I was

once more coming and going at all hours.

I had received a tip that Norris had been
in conference with members of the Bunco
Ring, and that a settlement would be made
shortly. Norris, though he had signed an
agreement with me whereby I was tó re-
ceive twenty-five per cent of any portion
of his fifty thousand that I could force the
bunks to give back, hadn't notified me of
the overtures as he had faithfully promised
to do.

But while he didn't know it, his move-
ments were as well known to me as though
he were a goldfish. Even in the supposed
sanctum of his room he had nothing of the
privacy he thought. By day, the window
was constantly within the focus oí a
powerful telescope; by night and by day
my most trusted agents kept an air-tight
ring about him.

T length the settlement was made. E.

H. Kohlhase of Seattle represented
the ring, through Big Hutch's brother. Ex-
Congressman John D, Fredericks acted for
Norris. The settlement was thirty-one
thousand dollars.

Now it was through my efforts, and the
pressure I had brought to bear upon the
3unco Syndicate, that this settlement had
been made. By agreement with Norris,
i was rightfully entitled to a fourth of it.
But I knew Norris' caliber.

However, more to see what the reaction
would be, I made an appointment with
him. After stalling me off for a while, he
finally met me. I wasted no time, telling
him I knew of the settlement.

He was plainly „surprised, and tried to
cover his confusion by denying that there
had been any settlement, but I finally pinned
him down, and he admitted it.

"But it wasn't as much as I lost," he
said, “and I'm going to let you sue me for
your twenty-five per cent."

"[ expected that," I said coolly. "I just
wanted to see whether there is any sense of
fair play in your make-up. Men like you,
Norris, who comprise the bulk of the
sucker list, are little more than crooks at
heart, or they wouldn't fall for such an
obviously dishonest transaction as the pay-
off racket. I am not going to sue you,
for the sake of your poor wife. Good
day!" And I left him, purple with wrath.

Before nightíall, members of the Bunco
Ring, heretofore hugging the shadows,
came boldly out of cover. Many resumed
their operations as I had expected.

With Norris out of the picture, who
they thought was the only client I had
among the victims, the bunks figured that
my fangs had been drawn. They were
greatly mistaken, as they found out.

But for a few days I turned over in my
mind the various and disheartening angles
of the situation, keeping tabs on cvery
bunk my men and I could identify. Pull-
ing down the pillars of the invisible gov
ernment—my Samson act—I reserved for
the last. For the time being, two princi-
pal problems confronted me; that of put-
ting enough heart into some of my clients
who were deathly afraid of the ring, and
starting a lumped civil suit; and prevail-
ing upon the indifferent authorities to
prosecute the swindlers. I now had
twenty-four bunks spotted where I could
find them, and was confident that, having
dug out Hutch twice within a few hours, I

(Continued on page 78)

True Detective Mysteries

HeLeft His Calling Card

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True Detective Mysteries

(Continued from page 76)

could do so again, through my agent in
New Orleans.

But the victims I had lined up had nearly
all received warnings, and I could hardly
do anything with them. Why hadn't Big
Hutch been arrested and prosecuted? they
Why didn't the police
arrest the known members of the ring who
were now walking the streets again, with
mocking smiles on their lips and wallets
stuffed with greenbacks?

Why ...?

Why indeed? Is it time for my Samson
act? I wondered.

No, I decided; the victims would take
courage if, in some way, I could induce the
police to gather in some of the bunks. I
bad tried to get the police to act before,
without success, but I decided on a final at-
tempt. It was to be my last effort to per-
suade the Law to take its course; failing, I
would compel the authorities to act.

I had a line on five bunks who were now
out of cover, and working a racket to-
gether in the very heart of the down-town
district. There was a certain captain on
the police force who I felt might be free
from influence, and who would direct the
arrest of these men.

Getting the thing lined up, I tipped him
off. This was the answer I got over the
telephone line:

"Oh, we know all about that
Cody. What of it?"

bunch,

HUNG up the receiver without another

word, and set off through the gathering
dusk to a café. Here, for an hour, I
brooded over a meal that was tasteless.
The Samson act—was that all that was left
for me to do? Could I, at the last minute,
move District Attorney Woolwine to see
the whole situation clearly—tell him the
names of these corrupt officials? Make
him rake in the bunks in one big sweep be-
fore starting the house-cleaning that would
shake the whole city to its foundations?

Determined to try, I acted on impulse and
called his house. He wasn't in. I called
his office, and was informed that he had
gone out of town for a few days, and that
no one knew when he'd be back.

Deciding to wait for a day or so on the
chance that he would return before I
started anything, I set off on a walk to-
ward home. It had grown dark, and know-
ing that my wife would be anxious until I
returned, I accelerated my pace.

I don't know whether there is such a
thing as a guardian angel or not, or if so,
whether he bothers about hardened old
chaps like myself. But if there is, said an-
gel was on the job that night!

I had reached the corner of Twelfth and
Grand Avenues, close to my home, and
noticed a car that was parked on Twelfth,
headed east, the motor running. A woman
was sitting in it.

I stepped off the curb and started across
the street, but a machine was passing in
front of me, and as I paused to allow it to
get by, I noticed out of the corner of my
eye that the woman in the parked machine
had seen me, and had slipped out of the
car and was hurrying to the alley. Within
a fraction of a second, two men joined her,
and started in my direction at a rapid walk.

Instinctively, I knew what their inten-
tions were. I was still a good distance
from my house, and unarmed—I seldom,

by the way, have carried a weapon other
than my two fists.

These men, no doubt, were gunmen.
But I didn’t quicken my pace, watching
them out of the corners of my eyes as I
walked, preparing to flatten out or duck
behind the nearest object the minute either
of them went for a gun. The woman had
returned to the parked machine.

And then a curious thing happened. A
car appeared on Twelfth Street, headed
west, slowing up as it drew near the two
men, and coming to a sudden stop. I saw
that there were a man and a woman in the
car, and saw the man motion to the men
on the sidewalk, who had stopped. There
was some sort of parley; then the two
men hurried to the parked machine, and
both cars drove off.

HIS incident puzzled me for a long

time, and it wasn’t until years later
that, having occasion to go to Police Head-
quarters on business, I met an officer
whom I had known casually for some time.
Of course by that time the bunco business
was over, but we talked of the hectic days,
and finally the officer asked me if I re-
membered the night when I had crossed
the street near my home, and noticed the
parked car, and the two men and the
woman.

Years had gone by, and I had to reflect
a while, but I finally recalled the incident.

“Well, remember the car that drove up—
a man and a woman in it? Remember
that?”

mes T said,-*the man talked to the
chaps on the sidewalk, and they took to
their machine and beat it."

"Well," grinned the officer, “the man
was yours truly, and the lady with me was
my wife. We were coming home írom a
show, when I spotted you, and saw the two
men. Pulling up, figuring that they were
about to take you for a ride, I recognized
them—told them to beat it."

The officer I mention had been impli-
cated in the shake-up I shall relate soon,
and that is why I shall not give his name.

"Who were they?" I, of course, was
curious to know.

"Two of the bunks—anxious to make a
hit with the right coppers by bumping you
off, only a real copper came along—my-
self—and spoiled the party. They were
Billy Mead, alias the ‘Christ Kid,’ and his
pal, Johnny Keneff. The woman with
thém was Mead's sweetie."

jut that night, of course, I retired with-
out knowing much about the incident,
though I was aware that the gang had
come mighty close to getting me.

By morning I had practically forgotten
the affair. I awakened determined to try
once more to get in touch with District
Attorney Woolwine, and spent a good
part of the day trying to do so.

Cea a hot tip came from the
East Side that two of the leading
bunks, Gere and Dennison, were in the
lobby of a Main Street hotel. I now had
positive information that this pair had en-
gineered several swindles, among them that
of one of my clients, Thomas Donnahue—
$43,000.00, and Mrs. Ethel Hupp—$30,-
000.00.

I hurried to the lobby myself; spotted

(Continued on page 80)

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(Continued from page 78)

the bunks, and put in a call to District
Attorney Woolwine, not wanting to risk
asking any lesser official to order their ar-
rest. The deputy who answered my call
said that Woolwine was back, but in con-
ference and couldn't be disturbed. In spite
of all I could say, he wouldn't send my
name in, claiming that Woolwine had is-
sued strict orders.

In desperation, I
Doran.

“Out,” came the crisp response.

“Is Asa Keyes there?”

“Nope.”

“Well, is anyone there who has guts
enough to hurry out and arrest Tom Gere
and C. F. Dennison?”

"Say!" came the indignant response.
“Where do you get that stuff, Cody? You
can't ——"

"—because if there is," I continued an-
grily, "I've got them spotted—all tagged
and everything, with all but a nice rib-
bon.” I gave him the location. “If they
aren't picked up, I'm going to get real
mad. Get me?" And I hung up.

Gere and Dennison were still in the lob-
by, talking with two less important mem-
bers of the syndicate. I waited. Ten
minutes passed, and no investigators from
the D. A.s office. Ten more—the bunk
quartet was growing restless. Thirty-five
minutes—no pinch, and the gang split up.
Furious, I trailed Gere and Dennison, and
turning them over to one of my men up-
town, I hurried to a telephone.

'The.call I put in was to the city editor
of the Los Angeles Record, who was, at
that time, Mr. Ben Lemmons; a square-
shooting journalist if there ever was one,
and directing the most fearless and inde-
pendent newspaper in Los Angeles at that
period. For I was ready for my Samson
act. There seemed nothing else I could
do, and it was a plain case now of forcing
the authorities to act.

“Al Cody," I said, when Lemmons was
put on the line. "Do you think it’s about
time for a nice, big house-cleaning in Los
Angeles?”

“Do I?" he grunted.
six months ago. What's on your mind,
Al? Some dope about that Norris thing,
and the bunks?”

“Plenty of it, and so hot it will scorch
the fingers of your linotypers. I'll be
waiting for you at my home on Grand
Avenue, in a half hour."

asked for Deputy

“Man, it was time

HE die was cast. As I made my way

home I thought of a rural lad who had
dropped a basket of eggs to stop a run-
away horse. It was a fair simile: the eggs
in my case were the various bunks my
office still had tabs on. The horse was the
destructive alliance of corrupt authority
and crime that was trampling the city un-

derfoot. The pity of it all was the eggs—
the bunks—for I knew that they would
scatter.

One hope remained to me: that the au-
thorities, goaded to action, would endeavor
to save their faces by arresting every bunk
they could lay their hands on before the
ring had quite broken up. In particular, I
was anxious that the hoard of ill-gotten
wealth the syndicate had in custody of one
bank in Hollywood be seized in time.

| 2 LEMMONS arrived at my house
with his ace reporter, Benny Mark-
son. Withholding the names of the cor-
rupt officials, but hinting at a further ex-
posé, I gave them the story of the Million
Dollar Bunco Syndicate’s operations, and
the full particulars of the Norris swindle.

This account, printed on Friday, March
12th, 1920, created a sensation that was
reported by metropolitan dailies through-
out the United States, and shook the city
of Los Angeles to its foundations. I sat
still and watched the pillars of the invisible
government totter and crash; watched the
hunks drop everything and scurry for
cover; watched the official rats, squealing
and gnashing their teeth in rage and ter-
ror, scamper into their filthy holes.

God, what a scene it was! Unlike
Samson of old, who had been crushed by
his mighty action, I was able to see the
effects of what I had done. But I did not
gloat over it; I felt a great sorrow that
the city had fallen into such evil hands,
and only a sincere hope that, out of the dé-
bris on every hand, an honest administra-
tion would arise and purge Los Angeles of
its betrayers.

From every side came anxious telephone
calls; from Woolwine, and other officials ;
friends, and enemies; editors, business
men, ministers, bankers, workers—all
wanting to know if I had authorized the
account, and if it was all true.

I replied in the affirmative, declaring
that I had a few more broadsides to fire,
and that, unless the authorities did their
duty by the city in rounding up the Bunco
Ring, several of the higher-ups would be
turning in their resignations and looking
for other jobs.

Many influential citizens stormed my
home and offices, and congratulated me.
Not a few political vultures sought me out
to see if they could save their skins.

The bunks were scattering to the four
points of the compass, together with a few
of the officials, who had suddenly found
business that took them out of town. Posi-
tive information reached me that Hutch,
Trainor, Patterson, and several other of
the leaders of the ring, were in New Or-
leans. Others had gone to San Francisco,
San Diego, Salt Lake, and other cities, in
particular Denver, taking advantage of the

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appeared in other magazines.

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therefor, is guilty of a Federal offense in using the mails to defraud.

The publishers of True Derecrive Mysteres are anxious—as are all reputable publishers
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pandemonium that was raging in police
circles. à
And then, headline after headline :

WOOLWINE MUST ACT OR RESIGN
And:

CHIEF OF POLICE HOME MUST GO

And so on.

And Woolwine did begin to act, at last,
though only a few minor bunks were put
en ice. My frightened client-victims of the
Bunco Syndicate took heart, and sought me
cut, now more than willing to cooperate
with me. But the Law had been too slow
to act, and the majority of the big crooks
of the ring had put sunny California be-
hind them.

Of course the bulk of the citizenry were
more concerned over the political mess
than over the losses of the victims of the
ring.

MONG my visitors was Police Com-

missioner R. T. Burge, who, while an

honest and conscientious man, had a few
political axes of his own to grind.

"Cody," he said, "you've sure stirred up
things. Is what you hint at true, regard-
ing the corruption in the Police Depart-
ment and other departments? I mean, do
you know the names of these officials?”

"I do," I said. "When I think it oppor-
tune, I shall give out the information."

He nodded, studying me.

"Why have you done all this, Cody?
What benefit do you get out of it, if you
will pardon my frankness?”

I shrugged.

“The satisfaction of a private citizen,
who, above all else, desires to see honesty
in civic administration replace corruption.”

He was silent for a while.

“Well, I commend you most heartily,
and perhaps we can reach an agreement.
What would you charge me to furnish
these names, and complete information
concerning the situation?”

I smiled ironically. So Burge wanted to
borrow my thunder and make a spread
himself, and a hit with his constituents! I
pretended to reflect.

“About ten thousand dollars,” I replied
composedly, knowing that he would think
a. long while before coughing up that
much. If he did, fair enough; I was out
pienty of money for my time and work,
anyway, and I didn't care a rap about the
publicity.

He gulped.

“Ten thousand?
money, Cody."

“Well, suit yourself; that's my price," I
said in a tone of finality.

He gave me the impression that, while
the amount was probably a good deal more

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True Detective Mysteries

cn the carpet, and demanded that Burge
lay his cards upon the table. Poor Burge
was in a quandary, and backed water, and
the Mayor ordered him to prove his
charges, or resign from the Police Com-
mission.

Frantically, Burge came to me, and
begged me to help him out. I had little
sympathy for him, and stuck to my price.
He wailed that his financial affairs were in
bad shape, and that he couldn’t pay me
anything, begging me to save his face.

I told him that I had the interests of the
city at heart, and that I couldn't be
bothered about pulling his political chest-
nuts out of the fire at the expense of the
program I had mapped out, which, like cas-
tor-oil for children, was to be taken in
prescribed doses, and was for the city's
good, whether the city knew it or not.

OWEVER, I gave him a few tips

that he could run down himself, and
let it go at that. Take it from me, Burge
£ot busy, though he made a lot more
noise and promises than he should have. I
was about to yield to a generous impulse,
and come to his rescue, when he hired
some other detectives, so I sat back and
watched the fireworks. The men he had
engaged couldn't nail anything, and finally
Mayor Snyder lost his patience and, aíter
bawling Burge out in public, told him to
get out of office.

Burge then consulted me, though by that
time he doubted that I could really help
him—that I really knew of the police cor-
ruption—convinced that my exposé to the
Record had been so much hot air. When
be took that attitude, I resolved to make
him pay to save his hide.

"You're in an awful mess, Burge,” I
said, "and if you place five thousand dol-
lars in a local bank, subject to my check,
I'll save you.”

3ut he refused, saying that while he
had the money, he had no way of knowing
that it would be well spent. I let him go,
expecting that he'd change his mind, but
the axe descended quickly and the next day
Purge was an ex-police commissioner. He
looked me up again, then, saying he was
sorry he hadn't trusted me, and asked me
to give him an idea of how I would have
gone about helping him.

“Tt would have been very simple,” I said,
“and I wouldn’t even have had to expose
my own hand. You came out in the Er-
aminer with a pretty strong spiel declar-
ing that the police force was corrupt, in-
efficient, and full of thieves and scoundrels,
and

“I guess it was somewhat premature," he
muttered.

“Well, of course, you were right, though
you couldn’t prove it. My plan was for
you to demand a hearing before the City
Council, and take the position that you
were ready to prove your statements. In
the meantime I would have lined up forty
or fifty old men and women, and had them
appear before the Council and have them
tell their heart-rending stories of how they
had been robbed of their life’s savings on
the streets of Los Angeles with police on
every corner—and, as for the thieves
on the force, what better example do you
need than that recent Chinese lottery-joint
stick-up ?"

This was an incident that had occurred a
few days before, when a couple of regular
police officers had stuck up a Chinese

gambling-house,
the act.

Burge agreed that he had been a fool not
to let me help him.

Personally, I was just as well satisfied
that I hadn’t, for in a case like that, I pre-
fer to fry my own bacon.

Burge, however, made an effort to save
appearances after he was out, and the in-
cident is so amusing, I may as well give a
brief account of it.

and had been caught in

SMART thief by the name of Cal

Rolf who had played a minor part in
the Bunco Syndicate’s operations, locked
up Burge and said, “I know all the dips in
the world, and particularly in An-
geles.” He told Burge that if he would
pay him a daily salary, he would follow
the dips around, pick up the pokes they
threw away, and give them to Burge.

Poor old Burge fell for it, and engaged
Rolf. Every day Cal would bring Burge
an empty purse, and receive his wages,
while Burge broke out in print again. Un-
known to him however, the wily Cal had
known of a supply of empty pokes that
dips, for months, had thrown into an old
boiler near the Vernon fight stadium—he
among them, being a dip himself! Rolf
drew on this supply until it was exhausted.
Then what to do? Happy thought: he
made the rounds of second-hand stores.
Finally a fly-cop saw him buy one, and
knowing Rolf didn't need a poke for his
own use any more than he required two
heads, pinched him—and the jig was up.

So much for Burge and his troubles.

The authorities had let the principal
bunks slip through their fingers, and I de-
cided that, as long 4s a clean-up seemed to
be in order, Pd empty the basket. This
time I worked quietly, pulling strings in a
way designed to keep the limelight from
finding me again, for to a private detec-
tive, myself in particular, being celebrated
may be all right, but being too well-known
is something else.

One after another, officials went down
in the avalanche that, hour by hour,
gathered body and momentum. Among
them were Chief of Police Home; De-
tectives Williams, Raymond, MacNamara,
Kirby, Cowan, Boyd, Carrol and others—
cops, commissioners, double-dealing stools,
lobbyists, and so on.

But District Attorney Woolwine had fi-
nally decided to thrust aside other business,
and with all the energy and determination
he was noted for, he tackled the bunco
situation. Running down the tip I had re-
ceived that Hutchings had gone to New
Orleans, he managed to locate Hutch—
and then the fun began in earnest.

Los

The naked truth concerning the crimin-
al plundering of Los Angeles' citizens
and tourists by the “Big Hutch" Mil-
lion-Dollar Bunco Syndicate, carrying
on its cold-blooded exploitation of hu-
man weaknesses, is bared in all its grim
reality in the concluding instalment ap-
pearing in our next issue. In those final,
amazing revelations Detective Cody tells
the hair-raising story of the outcome of
his desperate struggle with the Bunco
Ring. Don’t miss the exciting closing
part in this plucky sleuth's death-defying
fight against heavy odds to beat this gang
or ruthless crooks—in March True DE-
TECTIVE MystTeERIEs, on all news stands
February 15th.

Why Wealthy
Women Steal

(Continued from page 37)

character for me; had I admitted the pres-
ence of a man or boy in the room while
she was being searched, it would have laid
me open to a charge of humiliation, and so
on and so forth.

The mention of the office boy’s presence
was Jackson's undoing—íor no one but
Mrs. Carter, the office boy, and myself
knew he had entered shortly after the
search was over.

My sixty-dollar dream had, of course,
taken wings!

During the drive home I chatted easily
enough and I am sure Mr. Jackson had no
idea that he had exposed his hand.

HE following day I made inquiries and

learned that the brown-stone mansion
before which we had stopped was a house
of ill-fame. I surmised that the two loi-
tering young men across the street had
been armed with cameras!

That afternoon I received a subpoena
served by the regular court attendant, re-
quiring me to appear in court against Mrs.
Carter on a certain day. Judge Zellar was
the presiding judge. The other two were
Judges Moss and Herrmann. I again
went over my story in detail explaining
how Mrs. Carter had stolen the petticoats.

On one of the benches in the back of the
court, I saw my walrus-mustached cava-
lier, so I was not altogether unprepared
when Mrs. Carter’s lawyer, pointing his
forefinger at me accusingly, demanded:

“Do you know a man named Mr. Jack-
son?”

“Yes,” I admitted. “I know a detective
named Jackson.” Then, turning to the
judge, I said, “Your Honor, I'd like to ex-
plain how I met Mr. Jackson . . . He sent
a man to our office . . ."

"It's unnecessary for you to explain
anything, Miss DeSantis" His Honor in-
terrupted. “The witness admits knowing
the man—what about it?” he questioned the
lawyer very sharply. I had an idea he
suspected something crooked.

“Er... nothing.” Whatever little card
he had had up his sleeve, outside of con-
fusing me, had proved a blank.

As Mrs. Carter had pleaded, “Not Guil-
ty,” she was obliged to take the stand. She
insisted that she had not stolen the mer-
chandise—that she didn't need to steal.

“Then how did the merchandise come to
be under your coat?” the Court asked, very
quietly. Evidently she wasn't prepared
for that simple question.

“Why, I don't know. I suppose it caught
on a button."

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True Detective Mysteries 83

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True Detective Mysteries

money on her person. She offered me the
entire roll if I would let her go.

At first I thought this was what profes-
sional “boosters” call “fall money," which
they make a practice of carrying on the
off-chance that the arresting detective will
accept a bribe.

First offenders in many of the stores
where I have worked are let off if they
sign a statement admitting the theft, but
in Jordan’s only the poor are let off—and
few poor people enter that store. When
women are well-to-do, the proprietor has
instructed us always to go through with
the arrest.

Accordingly, this Cuban woman was ar-
rested and taken to the station-house. The
Cuban Consul in New York and the
Cuban Government in Havana made every
effort to obtain her release. It developed
that she belonged in the front ranks of
Havana society, had a very prominent
husband and three lovely daughters nearing
debutante age. As her conviction would
have meant deportation, and the amount
involved was very small, my employer fin-
ally authorized her release.

What seems to annoy and amaze those
wealthy women even more than their ar-
rest, is that the judge takes the word of
an unimportant girl detective against
theirs—they don’t seem to be able to get
it through their heads that the case is de-
cided on the merit of facts.

Even the least educated and dumbest
crook will tell you that crime does not
pay. The newspapers are filled with proof
of this truth, yet detectives are always
running in brainy individuals who have
concocted schemes—crooked schemes—
which they believe are detection proof.

An example of this was what might be
called “The Case of the Disappearing Fur
Coats.”

I was working in Jansen’s store when I
ran across this racket.

One morning the general manager called
me into his office and told me that an ex-
pensive chinchilla coat in the cold storage
vault had mysteriously disappeared. The
clerk had the customary order from its
owner and the charges had been paid, the
delivery blank had been signed, yet the
woman had phoned in to say she had not
received it.

“The woman said she mailed us her re-
ceipt a week ago asking us to send her
coat; we have gone all through the vau.ts
but can't find it. One of the buyers re-
members seeing a clerk give the coat out,
but she can't remember whether the person
who called for it was a man or a woman—
and the delivery clerk has left our em-
ployment,” the manager explained to me.

“The best thing would be to get hold of
the delivery clerk and question her,” I
somewhat timidly put forward this very
obvious suggestion.

“We telephoned the number she put on
her employment application-blank, but her
landlady says she has left there and didn’t
give any forwarding address,” he snapped.
“Besides, as Miss Howard, my stenogra-
pher, told you, another expensive coat has
disappeared since she left.”

I had opened my handbag to take out my
handkerchief just at that moment—instead,
I substituted my vanity case, and rather

to the surprise and annoyance of the mana- -

ger started powdering my nose. This

was simply a subterfuge to see how his
stenographer took this statement—for she
had not given me the manager’s report
on the missing coat.

The keys of her typewriter were clack-
ing busily—but in the little mirror of my
compact I saw the girl watching me in-
tently.

“Well, she didn’t tell me anything about
it," 1 said, snapping the case shut and
replacing it in my bag.

When the manager spoke sharply to her
about this omission, she pretended, with
every indication of sincerity, that she had
not heard our conversation, or she would
have said that she had failed to report it
to me. That was odd, but not suspicious.
She had probably forgotten all about the
order.

HE first thing I did on leaving the

manager’s office, however, was to look
up Miss Howard's employment application.
From that I learned that she was a
college graduate who came from Boston,
that she came highly recommended and had
been working at Jansen's for six weeks
only.

Once a case is broken everything looks
simple, whereas at the beginning it is as
clear as mud. I made all the regulation
inquiries, and kept a strict watch on the
delivery desk of the storage department,
but no coat was delivered without an
authentic receipt—and yet the coats kept on
disappearing.

Every one who entered the store was
under suspicion. No employe was involved,
the manager was sure, for none left carry-
ing bulky bundles which were not properly
accounted for. It would take too long to
tell how many customers I trailed. They
belonged, mostly, to the same class—re-
spectable well-to-do housewives and busi-
ness girls.

One day I noticed a very stunning young
man sauntering along the aisles. He was
of the Valentino type, and, idly, I won-
dered what he was doing in our place—
he just simply didn’t belong there, and his
he-mannishness stood out like a prize-
fighter in a beauty store. Several times
he came—and I followed him about.
Somewhere I had seen him before, but
though I racked my brain I couldn't think
where. He never bought anything, and
though he didn't look like a shoplifter or
a thief, I was sort of curious about him.
Very well-dressed, he was, his features
were fascinatingly regular, his dark eyes
straightforward with a subdued twinkle in
them, and the lips of his rather large
mouth seemed to keep back a merry, tan-
talizing smile, as he idly glanced at the
various items of women's intimate wear
and the struggling masses which attended
bargain sales.

'They were a very nice, congenial crowd
of girls and women—the employes of the
Jansen store—with the exception of Miss
Howard. The manager's private secretary
kept herself aloof írom all the others. Of
course, she held an important position, but
she seemed to be unnecessarily uppish and
churlish. I tried several times to enter
into conversation with her—but I might as
well have spoken to a cigar-store Indian.
Yet, two or three times when I was in
her office with my back turned to her, I
saw her in my little mirror observing me

sort of disdainfully. Probably, I calcu-
lated, she thought me a vain, made-up,
little low-brow.

A week after the morning when the
manager had reported to me the disappear-
ance of the fur coats I saw the handsome
stranger standing not far from the em-
ployes’ entrance to our store. I wondered
what he was doing there and waited to see
if I could find out. Perhaps, I figured,
he was “stuck” on one of the many pretty
girl clerks—sort of an O. Henry romance,
I scented. To my astonishment, he was
joined by the unsociable Miss Howard! I
trailed the couple and they entered the
Seventh Avenue subway. I followed—saw
them get off at 145th Street and walk to
No. — West 147th Street.

Miss Howard was a very pretty girl.
She dressed plainly and was, in appearance,
the typical, efficient, private secretary. I re-
membered that on her application-blank
she had described herself as single; there-
fore, I concluded, the stunning young man
was either her brother or—she might be
secretly married to the sheik. As I took
the subway home, it came to me for the
first time that it was rather odd that he
had time to stroll through a department
store during the hours when most men
were employed.

“Why is this girl so reticent and so
disagreeable and snippy?" I asked myself.
“She has a splendid education, a good
salary and, apparently, a stunning-looking
husband—you'd think she would be so
happy that she would simply be oozing
with good fellowship. There is something
back of it—in spite of her good fortune
that girl is not happy.” For I have always
found that it is not from natural pride that
people are unduly haughty—their arrogance
and pompousness are almost invariably a
screen or an armor they use to conceal
some cause of unhappiness or tragedy.

HIS aspect of Miss Howard's churlish-

ness so impressed me that, without
waiting for my supper, I took the sub-
way back to West 145th Street and: visited
the superintendent of the apartment house
at — West 147th Street.

“Do you know a Marian Howard who
lives here?” I asked her.

“Yes, indeed,” she replied readily. “She
lives here with her husband. Why do
you want to know?”

“I belong to a sorority she wants to
join," I fictionized, "and we always make
these inquiries as it is very exclusive. I
don't want to hurt her feelings, so please
keep this interview confidential."

"Oh, you'd make no mistake in having
Mrs. Howard join your sorority," the
superintendent assured me. "She is a very
fine girl. Her husband is a broker and
they are quiet, wonderfully nice people."

So, "Miss" Howard had lied about being
single. Well, there was nothing extra-
ordinary in that. Many business girls who
are married claim to be single. However,
I decided to watch the pair for a bit. Her
husband was supposed to be a broker, yet
he was in our store when one would
expect him to be in his office!

I wasn't really suspicious of them, but,
acting on a hunch, I sought out the buyer
who had seen the second missing coat
delivered. I described Howard to her, but
she couldn't remember him from my de-
scription. The next time he called at the

True Detective Mysteries

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True Detective Mysteries

store, I got hold of her and asked her to
take a look at him.

"Yes," she said. “That’s the one who
called. Now I see him, I can recall that
he was the one who presented a receipt,
paid the storage charges and got the coat.”

I started to fasten the links together.
Miss Howard, as the manager's private
secretary, opened all the mail; thus she
received the receipts for the fur coats in
storage; her husband was supposed to be
a broker, but he seemed to have a lot of
free time on his hands. He entered the
often but never bought anything.
The buyer had, at first, said that she could
not recall whether it was a man or woman
who had received the coat—she might be
mistaken in identifying Howard as the one
who had received the coat in question.
She might have casually noticed him in the
store and erroneously linked that memory
with the scene at the storage counter.

However, there was enough circumstan-
tial evidence for me to work on. I took
my suspicions to the manager; he ridiculed
them. Miss Howard, he insisted, was a
very superior girl, an excellent secretary,
and I was overzealous and oversuspicious.
She was, he admitted, rather supercilious—
hinting that her ignoring of my greetings
and overtures had turned me against her.

“Then, if she is innocent, it won't hurt
her any if I take a plant in the closet
where you keep the stationery in your
office,” I said to him. “Lock me inside
tomorrow morning before she comes, and
release me when she goes to lunch."

It so happened that the closet was in
a direct line with Miss Howard's desk, so
that I could watch her through the keyhole.
He reluctantly agreed to this.

The following morning I took this un-
comfortable plant—but I was promptly re-
warded. I saw Miss Howard take the
enclosures from two envelopes and, like a
shot, place them in her pocketbook. I
could scarcely wait for the noon hour;
when it arrived I was close on the point
of suffocation.

store

HE manager released me as soon as

she left to get her coat and hat. I made
a bee-line for the telephone and called up
the Thirtieth Street Police Station. The
chief of detectives promised to have De-
tectives Fred Stepat and John O'Brien
plant themselves four doors away from the
employes’ entrance right away. I was to
plant myself right alongside the entrance
and when Miss Howard came out I'd put
my hand to the back of my head as a
signal.

The first person I noticed when I
reached the street was her husband. He
was sauntering up the sidewalk. When
she came out and saw me, Miss Howard
stared right at and through me. I paid
no attention. to her, but gave the pre-
arranged signal and followed until she met
Howard. They immediately became en-
grossed in a conversation and did not notice
Stepat and O'Brien approach.

I seized hold of the girl and the two
detectives took hold of the man. You
never saw such a look of astonishment in
your life as that young woman gave me
when I grabbed hold of her wrist.

“How dare you touch me?” she de-
manded, her eyes blazing with indignation.

“You have to return to the store right

away!" I told her. "Don't try to resist."

She looked puzzled for a moment. I
believe she thought I was crazy. "This is
my lunch hour," attempting to wiggle out
of my grasp. "Who are you to tell me what
to do—and what on earth do you mean?”

For a moment I was flabbergasted!
Then I noticed that she was trying to
drop her handbag.

“No, you don't! You just keep hold of
that pocketbook, and if you don't come
back quietly, I'll drag you back."

She looked me up and down with a sneer.
I was much shorter and slighter than she
was—but a bulldog is smaller than a giant,
yet he can hold on. “Of course, if you
want to collect a crowd you're going the
right way about doing it," I warned her.
Then she decided to give up the struggle.

In the employes’ entrance of Jansen's
there is a door to the right which leads
into the store and opposite this is the
employes' elevator. We were waiting for
the car to come down when Howard made
a dash for the door. He had come along
so quietly that he had fooled the detectives.

“Hold the girl!” I yelled to the men
and made one flying leap after Howard.
I really wasn't quite conscious of what I
was doing. It must have looked awfully
funny. Stepat and O’Brien said it was
like a circus. I don't know how I did it,
but I found myself on Howard's back with
my hands clasped about his neck—while
the customers looked on in amazement at
seeing a girl riding pick-a-back on a fleeing
man’s shoulders.

“You win!” he said finally,
panied me to the ananager’s

and accom-
office.

N searching the girl’s handbag we

found the receipt for a fur coat in
storage, two mail orders, six and twelve
dollars’ worth of stamps, and some pawn-
tickets. We located two of the missing
fur coats in a pawnbroker's shop on West
125th Street. A third coat had been cut
down to fit the secretary.

Both belonged to fine New England
families, but to me they were just a couple
of clever thieves. My opinion on that
point wasn't asked, but though they at-
tempted to "frame" me, they were convict-
ed and got five years. Because of their
marvelous personality and the wonderíul
sob story of a vain search for work which
the man put up, and the girl's tale of a
sick baby in the country, instead of being
sent to a penitentiary they were let out on
parole.

Too late,. Detective Stepat found that
Howard had a long record as an automo-
bile thief and, when he went looking for
him, found the pair had skipped. They are
now fugitives from justice.

—o——.

If people with brains and education are
going to steal, it always seemed odd to me
that they merely pilfered, until the teacher
of psychology I spoke about earlier in my
story explained it to me, after I caught her
stealing.

“Its a primitive urge," she told me, as,
getting a little bit whiter every minute, she
awaited the arrival of the arresting officers
from the Thirtieth Street Police Station.
“For many thousands of years our ances-
tors lived on plunder and, every now and

then, this age-old habit crops up. What
does it matter that Mrs. Fifth Avenue or
Mrs. Park Avenue has oodles of money?
The difference between her and the grubby
woman from Hester Street is, anthropo-
logically speaking, merely the veneer of a
few years. Our real background is the
same. When that insistent urge to plunder
surges to the surface, all the inhibitions of
civilization are forgotten. Social position,
the respect of our friends, the disgrace to
our families, never occur to us—those are
all artificialities of civilization.

"Plain, unvarnished avariciousness —
primitive acquisitiveness—is the reason
why wealthy women steal! If you were
to leave all the merchandise in this store
unguarded and let a flock of ‘respectable’
well-to-do women loose in it, how many do
you think would leave empty-handed if they
believed ‘no one would ever know’ should
they annex some easily concealed articles?”
she asked mockingly.

3ut before I could answer that somewhat
embarrassing question—for in spite of my
years of contact with the crooked contin-
gents of humanity I still retain a lot of
faith in people—Detective Malloy arrived
to escort my fascinating prisoner to the
lock-up.

The Red Clay Clue

(Continued from page 27)

much that I didn’t stop to consider that
she hadn't registered properly."

"[ see," snapped Epps sarcastically.

Captain Epps then found out from other
hotel employes that the young lady had
slept until 11 A. M., at which time she had
a maid serve breakfast in her room. She
then inquired at the desk if anyone had
called to see her. Receiving a negative
reply, she returned to her room.

r an hour or so, an unidentified negro
came to the desk with a note addressed
to Miss Merton. The note was sent to
room 13 and the negro vanished. The girl
hastily wrote an answer, which she had
one of the bell boys deliver. It was ad-
dressed to a Thomas J. Cluverius, care of
the Davis House, a nearby hotel. The
bell boy could not locate Mr. Cluverius at
the hotel in question, however, and re-
turned the note to Miss Merton. The bell
boy told Captain Epps that the girl seemed
quite down-hearted when the note was
returned to her. She sat and stared at the
returned note, tears running down her
cheeks, then tore it up and threw the
pieces ina waste-basket. Captain Epps
then asked if the contents of the waste-
baskets of March 13th had been destroyed
and was told that they were still intact.
The sleuth then went through a volumin-
ous pile of rubbish and finally came upon
the fragments of the note which the girl
had sent to Cluverius, and which had been
returned to her by the bell boy, When
pieced together, it read:
I will be there as soon as possible
so please do wait for me.

By the time the note had been returned
to Miss Merton, darkness had set in. She
packed her belongings in the linen satchel,
paid her bill and left the hotel. An em-

ploye of the hotel noticed her meet a |

man outside of the building. The two dis- |

|

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appeared in the night. That was on the
evening of March 13th, and was the last
time that the girl was seen at the hotel.

The note which the negro had delivered
to her could not be found.

From the information gleaned at the
hotel, Captain Epps was reasonably sure
that Miss Merton was the girl who had
been slain. But something told him that
Merton was not the girl’s real name. At
the moment, he had no way of ascertain-
ing this, however. After a conference with
his associates, Epps decided to go ahead
with the investigation as if the girl at the
hotel had been the victim of the killer.

In the meantime, the news of the find-
ing of the watch-key had leaked out in
some manner, as most important news has
a habit of doing. The man in the street
was greatly interested.

“Do you know anyone who wears a
watch that is wound by a gold key?”

That was the question asked hundreds
of times daily by Richmond people of
friends whom they met on the street. No-
body seemed to have such an old-fashioned
timepiece or, if they did, they weren't ad-
mitting it. The police were not making
much of an investigation along this line,
as identification of the body was the prob-
lem of the moment. The fact that nobody
had claimed the rather widely-advertized
key didn’t particularly impress the au-
thorities, because they believed that the
owner of the key, even if innocent, would
not run a chance of incriminating himself.
To be drawn into the case in even the
slightest way was the most remote thing
from the mind of anyone for miles around
Richmond, because by this time community
feeling was running very high.

APTAIN EPPS’ next move was a

trip to the Davis House in an effort
to trace the man to whom Miss Merton
had sent the mystery note. While con-
versing with the clerk there, he noticed
that a group of ‘young men just outside of
the hotel were talking in whispers.

Carefully examining the hotel register,
Captain Epps came across the name of
Thomas J. Cluverius—the man to whom
the note had been addressed. He had
checked in on March 12th, the register
revealed.

“Who is this man Cluverius?’
detective of the clerk.

“He’s a young lawyer who graduated
from Richmond Law College a couple of
years ago. Nice chap from a very good
family—often stops here.”

“Where does he live?”

“Up in King and Queen County at a
place called Little Plymouth. He lives
with a rich aunt, Mrs. Jane Tunstall. He's
assistant superintendent of the Baptist
Sunday School up there.”

“When did Cluverius check out?”

“Saturday morning, March fourteenth,
it I'm not mistaken.”

"Can't you make sure of the date?”

“Just a moment, please.” The clerk
looked through some papers and verified
the date of the man's departure.

“What time on March fourteenth did he
check out?" asked Epps.

“About five o'clock in the morning."

*Did he occupy his room the two nights
he was here?"

"So far as I know, yes sir."

"Who are those young fellows standing
in a group outside?"

"College students.

asked the

They can tell you

more about Cluverius, I have no doubt."

Epps didn't bother to question the stu-
dents standing outside of the hotel. In-
stead, he went directly to Richmond Law
School. There, after conversing with sev-
eral students, he came across one fellow
who seemed to know Cluverius quite well.
Cluverius had stopped to chat with him on
the college campus on the morning of
March 13th, the student revealed.

“JOW old is Cluverius?" asked Cap-
tain Epps of the student.

"Guess Tom's about twenty-three. He
hasn't been out of school long. He's got
quite a law practise up-state where he
lives—and down in this section, too. He
handles a lot of cases."

"Is he a ladies’ man?" asked Epps, with
a sly wink.

“You bet your life he is!”

*Ever hear him talk about the women?"

"Yeah! He claims he can take a dame
away from any guy," was the reply.

"Has he any other bad habits, aside
from running with the women?”

“No! Tom's a nice chap and we all
like him—only, he boasts too much."

Epps returned to Headquarters, his brow
wrinkled in thought.

One of the newspaper reporters, hearing
of Epps' visit to the college, went there
hitaself, bent on doing a little questioning
on his own. One student confided to the
reporter that Cluverius was quite a íre-
quenter of Richmond's Red Light district.

"Any particular place?" queried the
reporter.

‘Yes, indeed! He is on the visiting list
of a mulatto woman .who runs a place not
far from here." ^^

“What’s the address?”

The information was furnished and the
reporter hot-footed it to the address in
question,

The house in the Red Light
was a sordid-looking frame dwelling. The
shades were drawn. A minute or so after
he had rung the front-door bell, the re-
porter was facing a middle-aged mulatto
woman.

"Do you know a Thomas J. Cluverius?"
he asked.

"Step inside," said the woman, exhibiting
some degree of alarm.

The woman offered the reporter a chair
and then asked:

"Now, what's that you want to know?"

"I say, do you know a man named
Cluverius?”

“Why, what's the matter with him?”

“Nothing, only I just wanted to know
when he was here last."

"Wait a minute," said the woman, going
into another room. In a moment she
reappeared and said: ~

“March thirteenth.”

“At night?”

“Yup!”

“Did he have a girl with him?”

“Yup! He had a beauty in tow.”

“What did they talk about?”

“How do I know? He asked for a room
and they both went upstairs.”

“Well, didn’t any conversation take place
before they went upstairs?”

“Nuthin’ that I heard.”

“Didn't the girl speak at all?”

“Oh, yes, I almost forgot! She got
angry with Mr. Cluverius for bringing her
here. She said this was a terrible place
and she was ashamed to come here. She
pleaded with him to take her away.”

district

“I see.” The reporter seemed thought-
ful.

“Land sakes, this ain’t a terrible place
at all! I always keep it nice and clean
and only nice people come here !"

"What name did she call Cluverius ?"

“Lemme think a minute—ah, now I re-
member—she called him 'Cousin Tommy!
Cousin Tommy !' "

The woman's answers so impressed the
reporter that he turned his information
over to the authorities and they also were
duly impressed. But not a word of any
of this had appeared in the newspapers.
So far as the public knew, little progress
was being made in the case. Captain Epps
knew that such strategy would lead the
real slayer to believe that the case was
rapidly taking a “fade-out.”

HE next play of paramount importance

was an intensive effort to run down
the owner of the watch-key found on the
banks of the reservoir. Captain Epps per-
sonally visited one jewelry establishment
after another, displayed the key and asked
each jeweler if he had ever seen it before.
The sleuth had called on more than a score
of establishments and met with no success.
Finally, he went into the jewelry shop of
Herman Joel, located in the heart of
Richmond.

"I'd like to speak to the proprietor,"
said Epps.

“This is the proprietor,” said the kind-
faced man who coníronted the visitor.

"Do you do any repair work here?”
asked Epps.

“Yes, quite a bit for the higher class
trade,” was the response.

Captain Epps then pulled the gold
watch-key from his pocket and handed it
to Joel.

"Ever seen that before?" he asked Joel.

The jeweler examined it carefully,
Then:

“Yes, I’ve seen this before. I remem-
ber it distinctly because there are very
few of them around these days.”

The detective then revealed his identity.
Joel became somewhat flustered.

“Who is the owner of that watch-key ?"
asked Epps.

“I can't say,” replied the jeweler, “but
Id know the man if I should see him
again. I repaired the watch that this key
goes with for a man who has been in
here a number of times."

"And you don't know his name?"

"NO"

"Is he a resident of Richmond?"

"I don't know. But, as I say, I would
certainly recognize him if I saw him
again. . . . What's the trouble, anyway ?”

"Ill tell you later," was Epps’ reply
upon leaving.

HEN Epps returned to Headquarters

he was greeted with the news that
someone had turned in a linen bag or
satchel which had been found floating in
the James River, near Chesapeake Wharf,
several miles from the reservoir.

"Do you suppose the girl could have
been killed by some roughneck up at
Chesapeake Wharf and then brought down
to the reservoir and dumped in?" someone
asked Captain Epps.

"Of course not," the sleuth replied. “A
pipe-line runs from the reservoir to the
river and the bag probably drifted through
the pipe into the river and then floated
some distance before it was discovered."

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The bag was a beautiful white linen one
and Epps rushed to the American Hotel,
where the clerk at once identified it as
the one carried by the mysterious Miss
Merton. Several articles of clothing in
the bag contained the initials F. L. M.
Those initials, Epps decided, represented
the girl's right name which, aíter all,
might have been Merton.

Meanwhile, the body had been laying in
the morgue for almost a week. The riddle
of identification was finally solved by two
sisters, Emma and Alice Dunstan, who had
decided to make a trip to the morgue
through sheer curiosity. They had been
intensely interested in the case, having read
column after column about it in the news-
papers.

After taking one good look at the body,
Alice Dunstan screamed:

"Good Lord! That's Fanny

Her sister, Emma, agreed.

The dead girl was none other than
Fannie Lillian Madison, a direct descendant
of James Madison, fourth President of the
United States!

Madison!”

AKEN to Headquarters and ques-

tioned by Epps, both girls stated that
they had known Fannie Lillian Madison
for a number of years. The girl was a
governess and the daughter of a well-
known agriculturist who resided near Man-
quan Post Office, in King William County,
several miles up-state from Richmond.
Asked to describe the girl, the sisters said
that she was less than five feet tall and
twenty-one years of age. The girl, the
sisters said, had graduated from Bruing-
ton Academy with the idea of becoming a
school-teacher. Her parents had met with
sudden financial reverses, however, and
their daughter had taken the first position
that presented itseli—that of governess for
a family named Dickinson, who lived
Milboro Springs.

“She had a lovely figure,” said one of
the sisters, “and was just about the most
beautiful girl that I have ever seen.”

“Did she have a sweetheart?" asked
Epps.

“Not that I know of,” she answered.

“Would she have been visiting any ac-
quaintances in Richmond on the night of
the murder?”

“Hardly. You see, we were about the
only people she knew here.”

“She registered at the American Hotel.
Don't you think it's funny that she didn't
get in touch with you?"

“That certainly is queer," said the girl.
“I can't imagine Fannie being in town
without getting in touch with us. Why,
she didn't have to stop at a hotel! She
could have come to our house."

sure
you

“Well, then, are you absolutely
that this is the body of the girl
refer to?"

"Oh, positively !"

Just at this point,
into Headquarters
shawl.

"Show it to Captain Epps,"
sergeant on duty.

a policeman came
with a bright, red

said the

HIS was found just ouside of the

reservoir grounds, in a little park,”
said the policeman, displaying the shawl
before Captain Epps and the two girls.

“Why, that’s Fannie’s shawl!” cried
Emma Dunstan. “I know that shaw! well
—l've seen it many times. Fannie made
it with her own hands and showed it to
us when she was making it. She always
wore it when the weather was cold—yes,
that's Fannie’s shawl. . . ."

"You say Fannie Madison was a gov-
erness," said Epps to Emma Dunstan.
"Did she ever tell you anything about the
people for whom she worked?”

“Oh, yes. She often told us about Mr.
Dickinson. He's a rich planter. . . . He's
got barrels of money."

Captain Epps then allowed the sisters
to leave, but first made them promise that
they would reveal nothing that had tra
spired. The sisters were also told to re-
main in Richmond, so that they could be
reached on a moment's notice, if occasion

demanded. They agreed to do as in-
structed and departed—two frightened
girls!

Captain Epps then sent a wire to the
Dickinsons. Milboro Springs is quite a
distance from Rietimond, being located in
the Alleghany Mountains, in Bath County,
which skirts the West Virginia border.
In his wire, Epps merely asked the Dick-
insons for the whereabouts .of- Fannie
Madison. In a few hours, he received a
reply stating that the girl had asked for
a leave of absence on March 12th, and
that her present whereabouts was not
known. Epps smiled to himself. Things
were sailing pretty! Identification had
been established beyond a shadow of doubt
and he was now free to go after the
murderer! It was then about midnight.
Epps lit a cigar and contemplated what he
was going to do the following day.

ARLY the next morning, Captain Epps

and Patrolman Robbins were seen
driving in a disreputable-looking rig on
the outskirts of Richmond. Attired in
hunting togs, they had planned to leave
town on their mysterious mission without
letting the newspaper reporters know
about it. The latter had been whole-
hearted in their dealings with the police,

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but Epps wanted to make this important
trip accompanied only by a brother officer.
He realized that the least bit of premature
publicity would frustrate his carefully laid
plans.

But, just as the rig was jogging along
at a good pace, who should appear along-
side but a New York reporter! He was
breathless, having apparently been run-
ning for some distance in an effort to
catch up with Epps and Robbins.

“Hey there, Captain, what's the idea!”
shouted the reporter.

Epps, at the reins, pulled up to a stop.
He smiled at the reporter and said:

“Nothing, son. I’m just takin’ a little
time off to hunt ducks. See you later.”

With that, the sleuth gave the horses a
touch with his whip and was off in a cloud
of dust before the reporter had a chance
for further interrogation.

That afternoon, a rig, bearing the dust
of many miles’ journey, drew up in front
of the modest home of Fannie Madison's
parents in a remote spot in King William
County, near Manquan Post Office. Cap-
tain Epps knocked on the front door while
Officer Robbins remained in the carriage.
An elderly woman- with a kind face came
to the door.

“Is Miss Fannie Madison
asked the caller.

“Why, no,” responded the woman,
“she’s over in Milboro Springs where she
works. You appear to have come quite a
distance . . . won't you come in?”

Epps accepted the invitation and soon
found himself seated in a comfortable liv-
ing room. The woman introduced herself
as the mother oí Fannie Madison and, in
a moment, the girl's father entered the
room.

"Now, then," said Mrs. Madison, "how
can I be of service tó you?”

“Well,” said Epps, “we are just trying
to locate your daughter.”

"Fannie's a governess with a family in
Milboro Springs and we don't see much
of her any more. What was it you
wanted to see her about?”

Epps didn't have the heart to tell the
gentle, old lady that her daughter had been
brutally slain. He broke things gently:

“Now, Mrs. Madison, don't get excited,
but I understand that your daughter is ill
in Richmond."

*But that isn't possible," said the woman,
alarmed. "She has not been in Richmond.
She's over in Milboro Springs, a good
many miles from here."

"Yes" broke in the girl's father, "Fan-
nie wouldn't be in Richmond without our
knowing about it. You must be mistaken
in some way... ."

"Perhaps I am,"
Then, suddenly :

"By the way, Mrs. Madison, I suppose
a pretty girl like Fannie has a lot of
beaux ?"

"No, strange to say, Fannie hasn't got
any beaux. The only young man who
pays her any attention is young Tom Clu-
verius. But, of course, Tom is Fannie's
cousin and ;

"Pardon me for interrupting, Mrs. Mad-
ison,” interposed the sleuth, “but where
does Tom Cluverius live?”

“Down the road about ten miles. Every-
body knows him and his aunt around
here.”

“Does Tom often call on your daugh-
ter?”

at home?”

said Captain Epps.

True Detective

Mysteries 91

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True Detective Mysteries

“He used to call quite often; that is,
before Fannie took the job over in Mil-
boro Springs several months back. Tom
often stayed all night. We treated him

like one of the family. A nice boy,
Tom. ái
Epps, with all the tenderness at his

command, then told Mr. and Mrs. Madison
who he was, and added that evil had be-
fallen their daughter in Richmond. He
advised them to take the next train to
Richmond and call at Police Headquar-
ters for further information. Mrs. Mad-
ison screamed and fainted. The girl's
father swooned. When he had restored
them to normalcy, Epps offered a few
words of consolation to the distracted
parents and left the house.

5 HERE to now?" asked Officer Rob-
bins of his superior officer.

“To see Cluverius !"

A few miles down the road, the "hunt-
ers" were halted by a farmer who asked
the correct time. Epps gave him the de-
sired information, then pulled out his pipe
and asked for a light. Night was begin-
ning to fall and, when the farmer struck
a match and held it up to Epps' pipe, the
latter saw by the reflection that the farmer
was what folks call "a wise old bird."
After his pipe had been lighted, Epps of-
fered the farmer a cigar.

"That's a good cigar, stranger," said
the latter. “Many thanks.” Then, to
show his appreciation, the man asked if he
could be of service to them.

"Yes," replied Epps, "you can help us.
We're just buying some land up yonder
and wonder if you can steer us to a good
lawyer who'll examine the papers thor-
oughly."

"Reckon you want to see Tom Cluver-
ius" replied the agriculturist. “Hes
about the best lawyer hereabouts—only a
young feller but smart as a whip."

"Do you know him?" asked Captain
Epps.

"Ever since he was born."

“Is he married or single?" Epps inquired,
getting his work in fast.

"Single, was the reply, "but"—the
farmer winked—"he won't be fer long."

“No?”

“Nope! Tom's gittin’ hitched up in a
fortnight, I reckon.”

“How interesting!
ing ?"

"A girl named Miss Bray.
rich as can be.
world, almost !"

"By the way, that's a mighty nice-look-
ing girl at the Madisons."

The farmer rubbed his hands and
grinned. It was apparently the kind of a
remark that tickled his sense of local pride.

"You said it, stranger,” he replied.
“They don't come no better Fannie.
She's pure gold. . .. You know, stranger,
we all thought Fannie would be Mrs.
Cluverius some day but, here lately,
this Miss Bray has cut her out—cut her
clean out o' the picture. Too bad, 'cause
Fannie would 've made Tom a nice little
wife."

Epps handed the farmer another cigar
and drove off into the darkness.

Shortly before eight o'clock, the two
travelers. drew up before the imposing
residence of Mrs. Jane Tunstall. The
property sat far back from the road and
bore every evidence of being the luxurious
show-place that it was. It was partly of

Who's he marry-

She's as
Got all the money in the

frame and partly of brick, while a wide
veranda stretched alongside of the house.

As the visitors approached the front door
of the mansion, something flew out of
the darkness toward Captain Epps’ face.
The sleuth ducked, but his eyes caught
sight of a huge barn owl Gazing aíter
the strange bird, which had apparently
been trying to gain entrance to the man-
sion, Epps recalled the superstition of the
country folk regarding owls as birds of ill
omen—messengers of death. The detective
didn't know much about poetry but, just
at that moment, he recalled a line írom

Shakespeare which he had learned in
school :
“Out on ye owls! Nothing but

songs of death!”

A colored servant
ringing of the door-bell.

"[s Mr. Cluverius at home?" asked Epps.

“Yassah. Who'll ah say's callin?”

"Just tell Mr. Cluverius that someone
with an important message is here," said
the detective.

“Yassah,” replied the servant, vanishing
in a large, Colonial hallway.

Within a few minutes, a dark, medium-
sized young man, with thick, sensual lips
and an incipient mustache, came to the
door.

“Good evening, gentlemen," he said, “and
what can I do for you?"

Epps and Robbins carefully sized up the
man.

"Mr. Cluverius?" asked the detective.

The dark young man nodded.

“We are officers of the law, Mr. Clu-
verius," began Epps,. slowly, “and came to
see you about idenfifying the body of a
young woman which was found in a
reservoir in Richmond about a week ago.”

“I don’t quite understand,” said Clu-
verius.

“Well,” continued: Epps, “we are under
the impression that the body might be
that of your cousin, Fannie Madison.”

“Still, T don't see how that concerns me,”
was the curt response.

“No matter whether you are concerned
or not, Mr. Cluverius,” said Epps, bluntly,
“we are here to take you to Richmond to
see what you know about the death of the
young lady.”

“Must I go at once?”

“Yes, at once!”

“Won't you give me a chance to finish
my dinner? You interrupted it, you see.”

“You may continue to eat—in our pres-
ence!”

“In that event, gentlemen, step inside
and join me.”

responded to the

OING into the dining-room, the offi-

cers were introduced by Cluverius to
his wealthy aunt, Mrs. Tunstall, and to his
brother, William C. Cluverius. The rea-
son for the strangers’ presence was not
explained. The meal continued in silence,
Epps and Robbins partaking of the last
course—coffee and cake.

The meal over, Mrs. Tunstall left the
room, still unaware of the identity or pur-
pose of the visitors. It was then that
Cluverius informed his brother that he was
to be taken to Richmond in connection with
“the finding of somebody's body in a
reservoir !"

"Why, this is ridiculous, Tom," said the
brother. Then, turning to Epps, he asked:
“What’s the idea of this nonsense?”

"You'll find out soon enough," was the
tart reply.

At this point, Cluverius announced that
it would be necessary for him to change
his clothes for the journey to Richmond.

“PII join you while you change,” said
Epps.

“All right!” replied the young man with
sarcasm. “Come upstairs and watch how
I get dressed!”

Epps drew Robbins to one side and told
him to have a talk with Mrs. Tunstall and
tell her of the purpose of their visit. The
sleuth then followed Cluverius up his
bedroom.

to

HILE Tom Cluverius was changing
his clothes, the detective noticed that

the back of his

right hand was badly
scratched. When Cluverius noticed Epps
looking at it, he did his best to conceal it.

At length, Epps got a good look at what
he had been waiting to see—Cluverius’
watch-chain. The blood raced through the
detective’s veins when he noticed that the
pendant on the chain had been damaged,
as if something had been wrenched loose!

Meanwhile, Officer Robbins had told
Mrs. Tunstall that her nephew was being
taken to Richmond in connection with the
death of Miss Madison.

“That's strange!" replied the aunt, who
produced a letter written to her by Miss
Madison two weeks previously, in which
the girl stated that she was resigning her
position as governess with the Dickinsons
to go to Richmond for a few months.

When Cluverius had completed his toilet,
Captain Epps abruptly asked him to open
a trunk standing in the corner of his bed-
room. Cluverius, thrown off his guard by
the suddenness of the request, sullenly
complied. The detective went through the
trunk and came across a bundle of affec-
tionate love letters written to Cluverius by
Fannie- Madison. Another epistle, which
was not part of the bundle, was from a
girl calling herself "Pauline." In this
letter, the writer raked Cluverius for be-
ing a deceiver and a betrayer, and stated
that "the time has come when I can no
longer conceal my shame and disgrace!”

Epps pocketed the letters and then took
Cluverius downstairs to permit him to say
good-bye to his aunt and his brother. The
two officers then hustled the young man
outside and into the carriage, and were off
as fast as the tired team could travel.
It was now about nine o'clock at night and
the journey to Richmond would be a mat-
ter of hours. Officer Robbins drove the
horses while Detective Epps remained in
the rear of the carriage with Cluverius.

The trip was as pleasant as could be
expected under the circumstances, Cluver-
ius entertaining his captors with many
amusing anecdotes, Not a word had been
mentioned relative to the murder when the
tired and dusty trio pulled up in íront of
Police Headquarters in the early hours of
the morning.

Captain Epps’ move in bundling
verius off to Richmond was, to say the
least, a daring one. For one thing, he ran
a big chance of losing his job—and well
he knew it! For Cluverius had almost
unlimited wealth and influence behind him
and, if he could prove that he wasn't con-
nected with the murder, Epps knew that
he, himself, would soon be seeking employ-
ment.

Once in Headquarters,
grill the prisoner.

"What happened to your watch chain?"
demanded the detective.

Clu-

Epps began to

|

True Detective Mysteries 93

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True Detective Mysteries

“What
verius.

“Looks as if part of it is missing.”

“I wear the key to my watch on the
end of the chain. I left the key at home.”

“Your right hand is scratched. How did
that happen?”

“Oh, I scratched it on thorns while hunt-
ing a few days ago.”

Cluverius was then formally charged
with the murder of Fannie Lillian Madison
and locked up.

retorted Clu-

do you mean?”

ATER the same day, Miss Madison's

parents came to Richmond and identi-
fied the body in the morgue as that of
their daughter. The scene was a distress-
ing one. The father threw himself over
the rough pine box and kissed his daugh-
ter time and time again. Then he straight-
ened up, and demanded to know if any-
one had been arrested for the crime. When
told that Cluverius had been apprehended,
he shouted:

“The skunk!
we trusted him!”

It was then that Mr. Madison related
an incident that threw much light on the
case. He said that, the preceding August,
Cluverius had called at the Madison home
and asked for Fannie. When told that the
girl had gone to her grandfather's, nearby,
he went there and spent the night in the
house, as was his custom. The following
day Miss Madison and Cluverius were
alone in the house save for an old woman
who was bedridden, and a negro servant.
The latter's suspicions were aroused by
something she saw and she told Mr. Mad-
ison about it.

“But,” said Madison, “fool that I was, I
didn't believe the servant, and severely
scolded her for a remark which reflected
on my daughter and Cluverius !"

Cluverius was indicted for murder by
the grand jury, and pleaded “not guilty."
His trial opened in May in a courtroom

And to think how much

| that held only a íraction of the seething

mob which thronged the doors. The de-
fendant had recruited an imposing array
of legal talent, in addition to a small army
of private detectives who were ready to
prove that he was not at the scene of the
crime.

A stinging blow to the Defense was de-
livered when Herman Joel, the jeweler,
identified Cluverius as the owner of the
watch-key found on the reservoir grounds.
Doctor R. A. Stratton said that on the
night of March 13th, he had seen a young

man and a young woman near the old
reservoir shortly after nine o'clock. The
man resembled Cluverius, the physician
testified, while the girl was similar in
appearance to Miss Madison. Another wit-
ness, William Rucker, positively identified
Cluverius as the man he had seen with a
beautiful young girl within a quarter of a
mile of the scene of the crime on the fate-
ful night. Aaron Watkins, a negro, testi-
fied that at about nine-thirty on the night
of March 13th, he heard a woman scream
once. The scream came from the direc-
tion of the lonely reservoir. The witness
added that several dogs in the neighbor-
hood started barking just at that moment,

and that he didn't hear any further
screams.

Other witnesses for the State testified
that they had seen Cluverius in various

parts of Richmond preceding and following
the time of the crime. The love letters
were introduced, attention called to the
scratches on the back of the defendant's
hand, his damaged watch-chain, the note
sent to him at the Davis House, et cetera.
In short, the Prosecution had íorged an
unbreakable chain of circumstantial evi-
dence !

OMPLETE and sweeping denial of his

guilt was offered by the defendant. To
substantiate this contention, the highly-
respected Mrs. Tunstall took the witness
stand and produced a gold key which she
said her nephew had used to wind his
watch. Examination of the key by the
Prosecutor revealed, however, that it did
not fit the defendant's timepiece! That
bit oí work probably sealed Cluverius'
doom for it took the jury less than an
hour to bring in a verdict of "murder in
the first degree”—without a recommenda-
tion for mercy! Appeals to the higher
courts, through long, drawn-out months,
were fruitless.

And so it was that the scion of an old
southern family, despite the riches and
power at his command, marched to the
death scaffold one blustery afternoon 22
months after the crime had been com-
mitted! Standing on the gallows, the cool
Cluverius, after stoutly protesting his
innocence, glanced up at the thousands of
curious citizens gathered on a nearby hill-
side, where they could get a good look at
the proceedings.

“Quite a crowd,” remarked Cluverius.

Then the trap sprung!

That was the end of Cluverius.

The Farm of the Seven Crimes

(Continued from page 43)

make a move, all the others would start
also. They all stayed in the same hotel,
and each man remained awake until late in
the night, afraid to sleep. None of the
newshounds was taking a chance of being
“scooped.”

Despite these precautions, one of the
papers, on the morning of May 5th, scooped
the whole world on the one big story that
half a dozen newspapers were paying big
expense accounts to get a “break” on.

My paper was among those left to read
the “extra” of the rival paper, when scores
of mad newsboys “hit the street” with the
complete story, pictures and all.

The story was the service of a warrant,

charging murder in the first degree on
seven different counts, against Owen
Oberst, who had confessed.

Here is Owen's confession:

I just got mad at them and took my
rifle and shot them.

I had asked him (meaning the boy’s
father) for the car and he told me I
could not have it, and so that night I
got ready and killed him.

When he opened the door I shot
him, drug him inside and set the house
on fire.

I just shut my eyes and pulled the
trigger. I fired seven shots with the
rifle—killed them about six o'clock.

No one ever suggested it to me. I

just got mad at my father—I figured
it out when I was going home.
I piled all the bodies together, but
left my mother in the dining room.
Father did not say for sure that I
could not have the car.

ULLEN, question-battered, and defeat-

ed in a two-weeks’ attempt to escape
the consequences of his act, the remarkable
stamina of this seventeen-year-old farm
boy was at last broken, by the untiring,
persistent force of the man who has put
the office of the Kansas State Fire Mar-
shal at the head of America’s list of fire
investigators.

McCartney had been grilling Owen since
noon one day. It was late in the night
that the boy, with great beads of perspira-
tion streaming down his face, finally
"broke" under the terrible strain and vir-
:ually shouted his brief confession into the
cars of the Deputy Fire Marshal.

His broad shoulders sagged forward,
and in his eyes was reflected the haunting
memory of two weeks past, the fatal night
vpon which he took the lives of his mother,
his younger brothers and sisters, and his
father. Despite his youth, and his massive
frame that, some day, would be that of a
powerful man, Owen Oberst, sitting at a
scarred flat-top desk across from the man
who for nearly a whole day had dug and
probed deep into the boy's soul with a
voice that was at once persuasive and com-
manding, presented a picture of a very old
man.

Yet. the farm lad refused to tell any of
the details of the massacre.

"I don't know what else to say. I've told
it all,” was his reply to McCartney when
the officer pressed Owen for details of the
murders.

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True Detective Mysteries

McCartney turned the youth over to the
Sheriff, who locked Owen behind the bars
cf his small cell in the Butler County jail
until the next day, when another attempt
was made to obtain a detailed account of
the grisly tragedy.

It was several days, five to be exact, be-
fore any of the sickening details of how
the crime was perpetrated out there in the
lonely hills of Butler County were related
by the murderer.

When he did enter the same room in
which he had made his first confession to
McCartney on the night of May 4th, it was
not the broken, remorseful youth who
blurted out the few brief words that first
started the shadows of grim, gray, prison
walls creeping up to blot out the remainder
of the boy’s life.

It was a defiant, headstrong, young man.
The kind of a youth who could, without
the least show of emotion, or the slightest
pang of pity, lie in hiding, and with a
small caliber rifle, shoot his mother down
in her tracks, and pick off, one by one, his
five brothers and sisters, then wait for sev-
eral minutes until his father arrived, and,
with the same absence of feeling, drop
him with the last bullet from the gun.

"[ guess it doesn't make any difference,"
Owen began. “I might just as well talk
and get rid of you."

He then told in minute detail, of how he
had thought of killing his father for
months, because the “old man” always re-
fused the big car to the boy, when Owen
had a “date” with a “town girl.” William
Oberst had been a hard task-master, Owen
told the officers, and was always “throwing
it up” to him about something that oc-
curred long before Owen Oberst came into
the world. Just what that “something”
that William Oberst reminded his son of,
no one probably will ever know.

The complete signed confession of Owen
Oberst follows:

My name is Owen Oberst, aged 17.
I just got mad at them and took the
rifle and shot them. I shot Herbert
first; then Hugh, then Ralph, then
Edith, then mother, then sister Doro-
thy, and then dad. Then I set the
house on fire. I took some coal oil and
poured it on the floor, took some
papers and set it on fire. Then I left.
I searched father’s clothes and put the
money in the top of the car, and it
fell out next day and I noticed it. I
had asked him for the car, and he
told me I could not have it, so that
night I got ready and killed him. I
just went in the house, took the rifle,
loaded it up and shot them. Herbert
was in the kitchen when I shot him.
Mother was in the dining room. I
shot father outside and drug him in-
side. He was just coming in from
Florence and got about to the house
and I shot him.

I shot the kids first before he got
home and shot my mother before dad
got home. Father came in from the
north, drove his car up to the shed,
stopped, got out and got to the front
door of the house and I shot him by
the kitchen door. When he opened
the door I shot him, drug him inside
and set the house afire.

I went down in the cellar to get the
coal oil, poured it on the floor and
set the house afire. Then I drove out
to Harris Parsons, waited until he got
ready, went to Arnold Brenzikofer's
and waited until he got ready. Then

went to Florence.

Dorothy was in the kitchen when I
shot her. I just shut my eyes and
pulled the trigger. I fired seven shots
with the rifle; killed them about six
o'clock. I had just killed Dorothy
when dad came in. I heard him com-
ing and killed them just as I heard him
coming. No one ever suggested it to
me. I was just mad at my father. My
mother never said a thing about my
going. I decided to do it, before, on
that afternoon—just about the time I
quit over there where I was with that
other fellow, about five o'clock, when
I was down there at Moore's place.

I figured it out as I was going home.
I piled all the bodies together, but I
left mother in the dining room. I had
no help in this.

Father did not say for sure that I
could not have the car. I never stud-
ied about it until I was coming home.
There was two or three dollars in sil-
ver, some small change, in his pocket
and I took that out. Then I took the
other out of his overcoat pocket.
There was $37.00 in bills.

Signed,
Owen Oberst.

But back of the confession McCartney
had succeeded in wringing from young
Owen Oberst, who has been forever cut
off from Society by shadows even more
terrible than the shadows that, each eve-
ning, creep slowly over the Oberst farm
out there in the Flint Hills of Butler
County, Kansas, there still lurks something
as deep and dark as the farm massacre
itseli—Black Suspicion!

The people of southeastern Kansas,
and particularly those of the Flint Hills
and El Dorado, still do not believe Owen
Oberst murdered his family unaided.

This disbelief was so strong at one time
that the citizenry of El Dorado and But-
ler County rose up in indignation at Mc-
Cartney and the Butler County authorities,
accusing them of using third degree meth-
ods on the boy in obtaining his written con-
fession to killing and burning his father
and mother and five brothers and sisters.

A fact-finding committee, composed of
eight prominent business and professional
men of El Dorado, was formed for the
purpose of learning the true circumstances
surrounding the manner in which McCart-
ney wrung from the lips of Owen Oberst
the words which branded the boy as the
most brutal of murderers.

The committee included the Reverend F.
W. Condit, pastor of the Christian Church
of El Dorado; Robert H. Hazlett, banker ;
E. W. Grant, H. W. Schumacher, L. J.

jond and Charles W. Steiger, attorneys,
Doctor C. E. Boudreau, and George Brom-
well, EI Dorado High School athletic di-
rector.

These men talked to Owen for more
than two hours, and reported that the boy
admitted making the confession of his own
will, without being forced to do so by Mc-
Cartney.

A few days later Owen Oberst recanted.
He said McCartney had made him sign the
confession. The next day Owen Oberst
confirmed his original confession. Two
days later the íarm lad again repudiated
the confession, and entered a plea of “not
guilty” when he faced Judge George J.
Benson to receive sentence. The youth
was led back to his cell in the Butler
County Jail. Three days later he faced
Judge Benson a second time, pleaded guilty,

and begged to be “hurried along to the
penitentiary at Lansing.”

The day following Owen's first confes-
sion to McCartney, Fred Oberst, the uncle,
sold at auction his brother’s farm in the
Flint Hills. He gave Owen twenty-five
dollars, “with which to buy bananas.” This
was the only luxury the boy had ever asked
for while in the jail.

Fred Oberst, after the
pleaded with Owen, when the latter re-
canted his confession, to make a clean
breast of the whole thing, receive his sen-
tence of life imprisonment, and “have it
over with.”

farm was sold,

Inside Story of
George Remus—
“Bootleg King"

(Continued from page 24)

proximate perfection throughout the land!”

Asked if the $500,000.00 was a tempta-
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We have a young son and Mrs. Morgan
and I care more for the honor of our home
than all the money in the world.”

His charming wife, who had been lis-
tening to the interview, said sweetly, “I am
very proud of my husband,” and the writer
realized that she had every reason to be.

Mr. Morgan remained in the Prohibition
Department for several years after the
raid on Death Valley, but before he left he
had seen the power of the whisky ring
broken, and broken badly.

OVERNMENT interference at Death
Valley was a blow to Remus, the Mil-
lionaire Bootlegger, as he pushed forward
in his plan to become the Whisky King, but
he began planning anew the day after his
arrest. He opened a new account at the
bank under the name of John P. Alexan-
der, which figured prominently at his trial.
Remus was arrested November 2nd, 1921,
and held under bond of $50,000.00 by
United States Commissioner Thomas
Gregory at Cincinnati—bond which was
furnished by Mrs. Remus and a party oí
friends. The Whisky King had failed in
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tion Director of Indiana, so he looked to
Kentucky for new business. He had lost,
in the raid at Death Valley, all of his
permits with which he could withdraw un-
der the plans of his "Circle," and in addi-
tion, the Government was also in possession
of all of his records, which gave a list of
the companies in his organization.

It was necessary for him to change his
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He knew that Sam Collins, the young Ken-
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of the Bert Morgan type, and that he must
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fall of the multi-millionaire bootlegger.

State, was another man |

97

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True Detective Mysteries

(It will be noted that this exposé appeared
more than four months before the arrest
of Remus).

The absolute failure of Remus to reach
Bert Morgan made him more careful in his
plans to get rid of Sam Collins, the stum-
bling-block in his new field of business. “I
thought certainly the young man wouldn't
object to resigning his job for a flattering
sum of money if he didn't have to do any-
thing wrong." said Remus, "so we planned
just to offer him a flat sum of $100,000.00
for his resignation. The offer was made
through an attorney in Kentucky, who was
also powerful in politics but the young
man smelt a rat and turned us down. 'No,
sir, he replied, ‘I am not for sale, ” said
Remus, in telling of his attempts to clear
the field of the famous young Kentucky
mountaineer.

After the arrest of Remus and during
the period the trial was being prepared, he
bought the Burke Springs Distillery, at
Loretta, Kentucky, under the name of
Harry Boyd, his personal chauffeur, who
also went to prison with his chief.

Remus abandoned the plan of using the
“Circle” because his permit in the Ken-
tucky Drug Company had been revoked
and, for the first time in his career, he was
actually a whisky bandit. He certainly was
going down the ladder rapidly.

He had established a new liquor concen-
tration camp near Cincinnati and every
drop of whisky in the Kentucky distillery
was carried through the back door under
cover of the darkness of the night, placed
on waiting automobiles and hauled to the
new camp.

The distillery was abandoned, as had
been the case in the Edgewood, but it was
some time before the Government realized
the whisky was gone.

HE Whisky King was now preparing
for his trial and a group of the na-
tion’s most noted criminal lawyers were
employed, although he did not believe he
would ever see a day in prison. “Hadn't I
paid millions for protection?” he said. “So
why shouldn't I feel secure?”

The Government was represented at the
trial by Mrs. Mabel Walker Willebrandt,
Assistant United States Attorney General;
Captain Thomas Morrow, and Captain R.
T. Dickerson, two young army officers
fresh from the battlefields of France.
They knew it would take the best that was
in them to convict the Whisky King and
they determined to give him a run for his

money.
The first setback for the Government
came when it was discovered that the

records seized at Death Valley had disap-
peared from the Federal Building. How-
ever, the energetic young prosecutors had
gathered much evidence to combat this un-
fortunate move.

Remus was charged in the indictment
with three thousand offenses against the
United States Government between the
dates of August, 1919 and April, 1922, the
date of the filing of the writ. The indict-
ment was held to be th. most sweeping
charge in the history of American juris-
prudence. Every challenge on both sides
was used and all jurors who had contrib-
uted in any way toward the enforcement
of prohibition were barred by the defense.

“We listened for days,” Captain Dick-

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erson told me, “to the stories of witnesses
telling how armed guards traveled the
highways, heard the story of Death Valley
from the lips of Old Mother Hubbard and
the story of the attempted bribery of
Government officials. Then Captain Mor-
row, my associate, recalling the scenes of
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'The address to the jury created a sensa-
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thrown out.

The jury retired for a short time when
it returned with a verdict of "guilty." Cap-
tain Morrow's scathing address had found
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cans. The verdict was a blow to Remus
but he was by no means a "whipped man."
He could appeal. The Whisky King was
still certain that Jess Smith would stand
between him and prison, and so he quickly
made an appeal bond of $10,000.00 pend-
ing the outcome of his case before the Cir-
cuit Court. of Appeals.

O certain was Remus that he would

never see a day in prison that he
staged the biggest deal of his bootleg ca-
reer after he had been sentenced to serve
two years in the penitentiary as a result of
the conviction, and during the period in
which his case was pending before the
United States Circuit Court.

He had been released under $10,000.00
bond and things went smoothly until the
summer of 1923, when his early partner,
"Jew John", brought the good news that
the Jack Daniels Distillery at St. Louis,
could be bought and milked of 30,000 gal-
lons of good red liquor, The information
pleased the Whisky King and he went into
the deal with the same vigor with which
he had organized Death Valley and drained
the contents of the Edgewood—his first
distillery. ;

Remus was always careful to arrange in
advance for local protection, so he made a
trip to St. Louis and was "more than
pleased with the preliminary arrange-
ments." He returned to Cincinnati to make
the financial plans. Two of his early asso-
ciates advanced $50,000.00 and Mrs. Remus
gave a personal check for $28,000.00, the
records show. The remainder of the pot
was to be made up by St. Louis politicians.
The owners of the plant at first wanted
$300,000.00 for the distillery, but were re-
duced in price to $125,000.00 by threats of
concentration. (This statement was testi-
fied to by Remus at the trial of the Jack
Daniels case later at Indianapolis, where
more than twenty-five St. Louis men were
convicted),

“It was my intention,” Remus said, “to

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True Detective Mysteries

remove the whisky in small quantities,
ranging from four to six gallons at a time,
and substitute alcohol to keep up the proof,
but a split came in the organization when
some of the members decided that the proc-
ess was too slow."

Plans were then started to drain the en-
tire contents of the plant at a single shot.
Remus explained that the demand for
bootleg whisky was so great that it was
impossible to get the alcohol in time to re-
fill the barrels.

"[ protested against the draining of the
distillery in the way they planned, regard-
less of how much protection we had, but

they refused to listen,” Remus told the
writer in discussing the Jack Daniels
deal.

“And so,” he continued, “it was on the
twenty-third of August nineteen-twenty-
three, that an electric pump was forced into
the bung-holes of the whisky barrels in
the distillery and thirty thousand gallons
milked into empty barrels on trucks outside.
The milking was done in broad daylight
and the whisky moved to the farm of one
of the members of the organization on the
outskirts of St. Louis. Everything went
over in fine shape and it was nearly a
year before the Government discovered
the theft,” he pointed out. “We intended
to sell the whisky,” he continued, “at thirty
dollars a case, but some one in the organ-
ization watered it and we had to cut the
price to twenty-seven dollars a case. Mrs.
Remus and I did not hit it off very well
with the St. Louis crowd. We knew that
we were being double-crossed at every
turn and so, shortly after Christmas, we
decided to take some of our trucks over to
St. Louis and get what was coming to us
from the Jack Daniels deal. I was wor-
ried to death and fighting my case before
the Court of Appeals, when misfortune
came swiftly and suddenly.”

As if it all came back to him with a
thud, the former Bootleg King arose from
his chair and paced the floor.

“Listen to this,” he said. “The Court of
Appeals affirmed my sentence, the Supreme
Court refused to review my case, Jess
Smith was found dead in his bath-room and
the Senate called for the impeachment of
Harry Daugherty.” The Whisky King
tottered on his throne. “The Game was
over,” he added pathetically; "I had no-
where to turn.”

N a dreary day in January, 1924,

Remus, King of the Bootleggers,
stepped aboard a train bound for Atlanta,
accompanied by several Government offi-
cers and a dozen members of his organiza-
tion. He had come finally to the turn of the
road. He was on his way to prison.

Remus found it comparatively easy to
keep up his spirits on the long ride, but it
was a difficult matter after he arrived at
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Remus to act, were enjoying the wealth
made by his operations. I tell you, it was
not a pleasant sensation!” he said, with one
of his well-known dramatic gestures.

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Remus, shut up at last, had enough food
for thought to sustain an army of thinkers,
but through it all he had one consolation,
he thought, and that was his wife and her
words at parting.

“Never mind, when it is all over we will
go away somewhere and forget the dis-
grace,” she said.

“I gave her full power of attorney,”
Remus added, “to act for me while I was
in prison. To her I assigned the Price Hill
home, almost a million dollars in whisky
certificates, the stock in the Fleishman Dis-
tillery, which I valued at three hundred
thousand dollars, my jewelry, three auto-
mobiles and all my private records, with a
cash check for a hundred thousand dollars."

Meanwhile Remus was making the best
of prison life until there came to him the
news that a careless rum-runner returning
from St. Louis to Indianapolis with a load
of Jack Daniels whisky had abandoned his
car near Shelbyville, Indiana. The license
on the car was traced to Harry Boyd, a
member of the Remus organization who
was serving a term in prison with his
chief, and, for the first time, it dawned on
the Government that the Jack Daniels rob-
bery was a Remus deal.

Pressure was brought to bear on Boyd,
but he remained loyal at first. Finally, he
made a confession involving Remus and
Mrs. Remus, together with a few members
of the organization, but as Boyd knew
nothing of the St. Louis crowd, they were
not included in the first indictments drawn
by the grand jury.

T this point there stepped into the in-

vestigation of the Jack Daniels rob-

bery, a Department of Justice agent, named
Franklin Dodge.

“It was necessary," Remus told the writer,
“for this agent to call on Mrs. Remus for
information, and it was not long until her
visits to me became less and less frequent.”
(It will be recalled that Franklin Dodge
was officially placed on the records at the
murder trial as the “Man in the Remus
Case" or to quote the prosecution—
“America’s most famous corespondent”).

“Well,” said Remus, “I served my full
time in prison and the day I was released
there was waiting at the door of the prison,
a deputy marshal to serve a warrant in the
Jack Daniels case, and an officer to serve
divorce papers on me.

“I had heard rumors that Mrs. Remus
and Dodge were running around together
but I did not dream it was as bad as that.
When we arrived in St. Louis, I was placed
back in jail under bond of fifty thousand
dollars. No one came to my rescue, in a
town where politicians owed me almost
four hundred thousand dollars," Remus
went on. "Finally, I succeeded in making
bond by pledging the Remus building in
Cincinnati.

"After I was released I went to see some
of the men who had worked with me in the
Jack Daniels robbery but no one was at
home to Remus. By this time I was al-
most crazy. I was broken-hearted and dis-
gusted. After all, the only way was the
right way, and so I boarded a train for
Washington and went straight to the office
of Mrs. Mabel Walker Willebrandt, Assis-
tant Attorney General who helped convict
me. ‘I have come to tell the story of the

Jack Daniels robbery, I said—and I did." |

True Detective Mysteries

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Several hours later he emerged from the
Department of Justice Building under
heavy guard. Remus, the deposed Whisky
King, was Remus, the Government witness.

"I hurried to my home at Price Hill,
Cincinnati, but—my God!—what a sight
met my eyes!” Remus buried his face in
his hands and broke down completely.

Mrs. Gabriel Ryerson, his sister,
pleted the story.

“When he arrived here,” she said, for
we were now talking in the living room of
the Remus home, “he met packers at the
door. The floors were piled high with rub-
bish and nearly everything was gone. His
wife had sold everything at auction for al-
most nothing. His paintings, oriental rugs,
statues and everything.”

“Where was Mrs. Remus?”
son was asked.

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Remus, polite always, brushed his eyes
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REND: was the Government's star wit-
ness at the trial of some thirty or
more St. Louis politicians charged with the
robbery of the Jack Daniels distillery and
when he returned to his home aíter the tes-
timony, he asked for police guard. A few
months later he was placed back in jail to
serve another year on a nuisance charge,
growing out of the original case. He had
been trailed by Immigration Officers seek-
ing to deport him on the grounds that he
had not been naturalized and, only a few
weeks before, he was released from the
Troy, Ohio, jail, on the nuisance charge,
his beautiful home on Price Hill was
seized to satisfy an income tax lien oí
$1,000,000.00. Was there no end to his
troubles?

Through it all the defection of his wife
seemed to grieve him most and the name
of Franklin Dodge sent him into a frenzy.

And so the time passed for the broken-
hearted Whisky King. He realized, when
it was too late, the folly of his undertak-
ing, but he was paying—paying—paying for
his crime. He could not smother the mad-
dening jealousy he felt for his wife and
the man who had taken her from him and
so, on the morning of October 6th, 1927, he
trailed his wife's machine into Eden Park
at Cincinnati, and there amid the crowds,
which gather there on any bright morning,
fired the fatal shot which snuffed out her
life.

“I had hoped to get Franklin Dodge,
too," he told the writer, the day aíter the
tragedy, when he was interviewed in the
jail at Cincinnati.

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HEN began the sensational murder
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True Detective Mysteries

you and yours I wish a Merry Christmas
and a Happy New Year!”

It was Christmas Eve and the Spirit of
Christmas swept the court room. It was a
brilliant, masterful, legal battle put up by
Charles P. Taft, son of the former Presi-
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minutes to decide the verdict of “Not guilty
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Insanity had been the defendant's plea
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Remus was sane when he killed his wife.
It was a paradox, therefore, when Remus,
fighting for his freedom after he had been
committed to a hospital for the criminally
insane, called upon the State's own wit-
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Charles Elston, Remus' counsel, carried the
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Remus is today a free man. What will
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jury. Theodore Durrant had been found
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the Courthouse when the word was re-
ceived—his Mother had pressed him to her
breast and had covered his head with her
thick wrap, her tears falling on his bent
head.

He received several stays of execution
but, finally, it was set for January 7th,
1898, at San Quentin Prison.

Four requests were made to the Warden
by the condemned man—first, that the rope
with which he was hanged be burned so
that curious people would not barter for a
piece of it as a souvenir; second, that
there should be no autopsy; he had always,
since becoming a medical student, vowed
that no knife should ever touch his flesh;
third, that no spectator gaze upon his face
after his hanging (this he is believed to
have asked so that his Father should not
immediately see him and become horribly
unnerved) ; and lastly, that his body should,
as quickly as possible, be turned over to
kis family.

He rested comfortably the night before
the execution.

He ate a hearty breakfast, bade his
guards goodby without a tremor. As he
dressed for the hanging he observed the
absence of collar and tie and seemed as if
about to ask for them, then changed his
mind, as the significance of their lack
dawned on him!

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solation of the Catholic faith, The
minister, who was to have accompanied
him to the scaffold declined, at the last
instant, to say that he believed Durrant
guiltless and the condemned man, there-
fore, would have none of him.

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to the priest, Father Fagan, who walked
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time, the condemned were not forced to
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saying :

"The hour has come for us to part."

He had asked his Father to be present
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True Detective Mysteries

At ten-thirty, the Warden gave up hope
of receiving word from Washington to
delay the execution. At ten-forty, Durrant
walked into the room, as corroborative
word was flashed from Washington that
the Supreme Court would not interfere.
His arms were pinioned and, as the rope
was placed about his neck, he shuddered
slightly but asked permission to speak.

His address was delivered in a monotone,
slowly and distinctly.

“T desire,” he said, “to say, that although
I am an innocent man, innocent of every
crime that has been charged against me, I
bear no animosity toward those that have
persecuted me, not even the press of San
Francisco which has hounded me to the
grave.

"If any man thinks I am going to spring
a sensation I am not—unless it is a sensa-
tion that I am an innocent man, brought
to my death by my persecutors. But I for-
give them all.

"They will get their justice from the
great God who is Master of us all and
where I also expect to get justice, that is,
the justice of an innocent man.

"Whether the perpetrators of the crime
of which I am charged are discovered or
not will make no difference to me now,
but I say that this day will some time be
a shame to the great State of California.

"| forgive everybody who has perse-
cuted me—an innocent man—whose hands
have never been stained with blood, and I
go to meet my God with forgiveness for
all men.”

The trap was sprung as he concluded.
His Father swayed in the arms of his
friends and, a few moments later, Theo-
dore Durrant was pronounced dead.

NE of the most interesting phases of

the whole case, from the psychological
standpoint, occurred immediately after the
execution.

Mrs. Durrant, waiting in an ante-room,
had begged that she might be allowed to
see her son as soon as possible. When
the body had been placed in its coffin, it
had been taken to the room and set down
where she might, at last, be alone—or
nearly alone—with her dead.

She cried aloud and threw herself upon
the coffin, begging the boy to speak to her.
The scene was a poignant one. The at-
tendants, who were obliged by law to
remain in the room, turned their heads to
hide their own tears, as well as to afford
her what privacy they could.

Then an old trusty, who was in charge
of that part of the jail in^which the gal-
lows had been erected, touched her on the
arm sympathetically, and asked if she
would like a cup of tea. Mrs. Durrant
raised her head and accepted gratefully.

When he returned she was composed and
smiling, her grief past its first depth.

The old fellow had done better than a
cup of tea—he had, in fact, brought an
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their loved one and chat over a hearty
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thought to the happenings of that terrible

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True Detective Mysteries

day; or to the presence of the dead!

Mrs. Durrant,
in the ante-room and had to be revived,
was, perhaps, the most talkative of the lot,
while the father showed little signs of his
recent distress at the gallows.

“Papa, give me some more of the roast,”
one of the party was asking, as the at-
tendant passed the door.

The very attendants in the jail, those
who had been with the condemned man
during his last days on earth, had been,
and still were, deeply affected by the exe-
cution. They were, with reason, scandal-
ized by the apparent callousness and cold-
bloodedness of the family. Who, they
asked, could eat with the body of a loved
one so close at hand? Who could crowd
food past their lips at such a terrible hour?

Could this hardness of heart, this cal-
lousness mean anything hereditarily?

Did it help explain the cruelty the
make-up of the “youthful monster," who
had been characterized in the press as a
lustful, perverted beast walking this earth
in the guise of a law-abiding, religious,
trustworthy, young man?

Surely his environment and associations
could not explain it!

After a hearty meal the Durrants left
the prison, riding in a cab provided by
and occupied by members of the press to
whom the bereaved parents talked volubly.

The Father and Mother had, they them-
selves explained, given permission for
pictures to be made of the hanging, but
the Warden had refused to permit it.

The parents were willing that the death
agony of their son should be displayed
throughout a country where there was
much hostility, and no sympathy for him!

in

O cemetery would receive his remains

and, after much trouble, the family
had the body cremated, and flung the ashes
to the four winds.

Thus were the murders of Blanche La-
mont, and Minnie Williams, who died be-
cause she stoutly maintained Blanche's
purity and innocence against infamous
slurs, avenged.

Thus was paid the penalty for deeds
which rival fiction in horror and fiendish-
ness—murders unique in the history of
crime.

To Our Readers

Most of the contents of this magazine
come from leading newspaper men,
But
we wish to make it plain that all

detectives, and police officials.

readers of True DetectivE Mvs-

TERIES are invited to send in, for

consideration, fact stories of crime

which they deem are

suitable for

publication herein.

In writing for this
magazine, please stick to the facts.
submitted

will be made as promptly as possible,

Decision on manuscripts
and we will pay at our usual rates,
TRUE
1926 Broad-

for those accepted. Address:
DETECTIVE MYSTERIES,

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(Continued from page 32)

I was taken to Central Police Head-
quarters, where I was asked to remain
temporarily, inasmuch as prompt arrests
were expected,

BOUT three o'clock in the morning,
two women and two men were
brought in.

I recognized Ed Morris, half-intoxicated,
surly, stubborn, refusing to talk, and
“Tom,” his pugnacious countenance now
very crestfallen, as he kept an anxious and
interrogative eye on his “chief.” Several
officers in the Detective Bureau instantly
recognized “Tom” as one Robert Corbett,

an ex-prizefighter whom they had often

seen in local boxing arenas.

I immediately identified the two men as
my abductors, in spite of their indignant
protests of innocence.

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tive brunette—claimed to be the wife of
Corbett. When her pretty little blue-eyed
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tracks—a strategic point on the main thor-
oughfare leading out to the San Fernando
Valley—had noticed a Chrysler sedan zig-
zaging down the country road. They
forced the Chrysler to one side of the high-
way and, in police parlance, proceeded to
“shake down” the car and its occupants.

On the floor of the automobile they
found a sawed-off shotgun; in Morris’
pocket a twenty-foot coil of rope and in

Corbett’s, a roll of cotton and two tin
spools, one of which still contained a rem-
nant of the same adhesive tape which had
been used to blindfold and gag me.
Crammed down back of the rear seat, they
discovered a revolver which Morris had
attempted to hide from sight before being
frisked.

Later developments proved that - they
were then on their way to the abandoned
warehouse, and had not yet discovered I
had escaped !

On my. positive identification of Morris
and Corbett, the taxicab driver, who had
delivered the ransom note, was released.

HE three suspects—Mrs. Corbett hav-

ing been eliminated from the investiga-
tion—at first denied any complicity in the
crime.

Captain Cross questioned them patiently
and at length, regarding their whereabouts
and actions during the preceding 48 hours,
but their replies—an endless repetition of
“I don't know" and "I can't remember"—
revealed an amazing and unconvincing loss
of memory.

It was then decided to remove the three
prisoners to the University Division jail—
and it was there that "Peggy," aíter a
gentle but persistent questioning by Cap-
tain Vernand, finally “broke” and admitted

107

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108

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True Detective Mysteries

having driven the kidnap car on that trip. |
When informed of her damning state- |

ment, both Morris and Corbett declared
that she must have become hysterical with
excitement and made the “confession”

while temporarily deranged; that neither of
them had any knowledge of, nor were in
any way involved in, the kidnaping of any
person.

There followed four days of almost un-
interrupted grilling of the two men sus-
pects by Captain Vernand and his officers,
during which the Captain repeatedly point-
ed out the fact that he had a “dead bang”
case against them, in the hope of securing
an acknowledgment of guilt.

Finally, a mysterious woman informant
entered the case.

After being assured that her name would
not be made public, nor in any way linked
with the crime itself, she was induced to
give certain indisputable evidence—in the
presence of both Morris and Corbett—
which proved them the kidnappers, beyond
the shadow of a doubt.

Her statement completely broke down
Corbett’s already crumbling morale, and
shortly afterward he made a detailed con-

fession—describing the events leading up
to the kidnaping, and the manner in which
the crime was perpetrated.

Morris, when shown Corbett's signed
statement, disgustedly “threw up the
sponge” and added his signature to that

of his partner's.

N April 19th, 1928, Ed Morris pleaded

guilty to kidnaping, assault with
deadly weapon, robbery and burglary.
April 23rd he was sentenced to
term of from ten years to life
Quentin Penitentiary.

Eleven days later, Robert Corbett en-
tered a similar plea and had meted out to
him the same punishment.

The girl, "Peggy," convinced the court
that she had been an unwilling participant
in the kidnaping, acting under the influence
of Morris. In addition, she materially aid-
ed the State in its prosecution of the other
two defendants. In view of these consid-
erations, the charges against her were dis-
missed, and for this reason, her full name
and photograph have been withheld in this
narrative.

a
On
serve a
in San

The St. Louis Gang
Rule Terror

(Continued from page 45)

“honest people” were more honest—if they
would not buy stuff they know, or be-
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One day aíter my mother had heard
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before I had time to wise him up, he told
her that I was not working for him—that
I was in business for myself. You can't

so

fool your mother for long, and don’t for-
get that! Well, Mother warned me to
stay away from Miller, and told me to get

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True Detective Mysteries

a job. I did not heed her warning. I
wish now that T had.

I kept on bumming with Miller, shoplift-
ing and stealing tires. Then one evening,
as we were going over to Ninth and Pine
Streets to eat some chili, we were picked
up. Detectives Kaiser, Wetzel, and some
others, grabbed us. They called the wagon,
took us to the Central Station, booked us
and locked us up for the night.

I was frightened because it was my first
arrest.

What job did they have me for, and
would they send me to prison?

I could hardly wait for morning
come!

to

Y first night in a cell almost proved

my undoing. All night I thought of
the crimes I had committed. By morning
I was as nervous as a green kid from the
country. I was scared, and the detectives
knew it, and tried to make me squeal.

I wish now that I had talked that day,
that I had confessed, taken my punishment,
served my time and then started life anew.

I was just a boy and I think I could
have made good in life. I wanted to talk
and tell all, but somehow I just couldn't
make the words come out. The police
thought I was hard-boiled, but the truth
was I was too frightened to say anything.

They mugged me, measured me and put
my picture in the gallery. They shot
questions at me and called me names.
Miller, who was pinched with me, just
laughed at them.

My mother was grief-stricken and fran-
tic, and I was so sorry for her that I
wished I was dead. I made up my mind
then and there that, if I got out of that
jam without being sent up, I would get a
job and go to work.

When men are in trouble, when a prison
is yawning to receive them, they make all
sorts of good resolutions. But when the
trouble is over, both the trouble and the
resolutions are forgotten. It was that way
with me. As I lay there sleepless on the
hard bunk in the holdover, I was certain
that I was going to reform. I had made up
my mind to get a job and settle down.
But I wasn't so sure of myself when, aíter
holding us 48 hours, the police chased Mil-
ler and me out of the Station, and Miller
told me I was a wise kid for keeping my
mouth shut and complimented me on be-
ing a slick one. I promptly forgot all about
my plans to go straight.

"Always keep your trap closed," Miller
said. "If you don't gab the police can't
rap to what you have been doing. The
only guys who are in prison are guys that
got confidential with the police."

Miller figured the police were wise to
our shoplifting and tire-stealing, so he de-
cided to frame up a new racket. I never
knew anyone with as many original ideas
as he had. But before we could plan a
new deal we were pinched again and
thrown in for another 48 hours.

The big, new idea came to Miller while
we were in the holdover. He was sprawled
out on the cell bunk when all of a sud-
den he jumped up.

"I got it, kid!" he whispered.

"What?" I asked, “a plan to escape?"

"Naw, you poor boob," he answered,
"we'll get out of here tonight or tomorrow.
What I got is a brand new racket. Just
wait."

I was too much worried at being locked

109

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110

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True Detective Mysteries

up again to get a kick out of his new
scheme. I wanted to get out. A plan to
escape from the holdover would have
pleased me more than a plan for a new
racket that might get us into the peniten-
tiary. But Miller's prediction came true
and we were released the next morning.

“Now, kid,” said Miller, "let's go get a
bath, some clean clothes and a good feed,
and then I'll wise you up to the new
racket."

GUESS I was getting harder, for, as

soon as I was free again, I was ready
to pull something that would bring easy
money. We changed our clothes, got the
car and went to a restaurant. When the
meal was finished Miller leaned back in
his chair and said:

"Here's the dope. Merchandise is easy
to handle and brings the dough, but we
gotta cut out this shoplifting. We're get-
ting too big for that petty larceny stuff.
There are a lotta dry-goods stores out in
North and South St. Louis that have those
old-fashioned double-doors with the big
bracket-handles, one on each door. We'll
follow the merchandise drays until we see
a guy delivering goods to one of the places
with the double-doors. Then we'll slide
a board through the bracket-handles and
lock him in the store—then drive off with
his wagon. Ain't that a good racket ?"

The idea of locking a fellow in by stick-
ing a board through the handles om the
doors made me think of some stuff we used
to pull on Hallowe'en. I told him I was
willing and the next day we started trailing
merchandise drays with the car. We fol-
lowed several wagons, but without success,
and then, finally, we got what we wanted.
A big dray stopped in front of a store at
Nineteenth and Sullivan—a dry-goods store
with double-doors and bracket-handles.

The guy went in the store to deliver
some stuff and I slipped a board through
the handles. Miller jumped into the wagon
and shouted at the horses.

'The people in the store tried to break
the board, that was holding them in, by
forcing the door. I ran down the street to
the point where I had parked the car and
was out of sight before they ran out the
back door and called for help. I followed
Miller and the dray into an alley where we
picked out two cases of gingham, loaded it
in the car and drove away, leaving the
wagon and horses in the alley. It was a
nice haul. We worked this racket for sev-
eral weeks without getting caught and
then, one day, Miller said: "Say kid, we
better quit working in the daytime for a

few weeks. We're getting too well
known."

"Suits me," I told him.

"Got any ideas?" he asked.

*Sure, let's try a little burglary. It ain't

a new racket, but we ought to get a lot of
merchandise out of some of these little
dry-goods stores."

Miller said that would be O. K. until his
head got to working. So, that night we
became burglars.

T was easy money. We would go into a

store in the day-time, buy something for
a few dimes and give the stock the once-
over. If it looked like stuff we warrted we
would go back that night and wait until
the cop on the beat had passed, and then
smash the sash of a window and go in.

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True Detective Mysteries

We "made" as many as five in a night and
in the course of a few weeks, broke into
all the best stores in North and South St.
Louis. We always took our time, selected
the choice stuff and hauled it away in our
car. Lots of times we would awaken
pcople who lived nearby but they were al-
ways too scared to come out. It may be
of interest to state that we never carried
pistols!

We never had any trouble getting rid of
a haul, as we had a string of merchants
that were always ready to buy what we had
on hand. One merchant out in South St.
Louis ordered some “hot” stuff and we de-
livered it. He saw in the lot some stuff
we had stolen from his own place about a
month before. He tried to shake us down,
but, even if he did have it on us for bur-
glary, we had it on him for receiving stolen
property, so it was fifty-fifty and—he
bought his own stuff back, That’s what he
got for being crooked!

Miller was nervous and never satisfied
for long with the same racket. He was al-
ways figuring out something new. After

had cleaned out the dry-goods stores
and, after we had been pinched a few times
more and held as suspects, he outlined a
new game, which was a peach. It was the
old idea of buying on the other fellow’s
credit, only we brought it up to date.

NE of us would hang around a big re-

tail automobile accessory store until we
found out at what places the concern had
charge accounts, and then we would get
some order-blanks used by the retail store.
After getting the lay we would fill out a
big order for tires, batteries, or something
else, using a blank order-form we had got-
ten from the store. Then we would «agree
that, at a certain time, I would walk into
the retail store and ask to use the telephone,
and Miller would go into the wholesale
place and present the order.

At the exact minute that Miller was pre-
senting his order I would be asking if I
could use the telephone in the retail place.
I would call a number, hold a phony con-
versation, and pretend someone was going
to call me back. Miller, in presenting his
order, would say, “If you want to verify
that, phone the store, Olive LE
clerk would usually call and I would an-
swer the phone when it rang.

“Is this Mr. Smith?” the clerk would
ask.

“Yes,” I would answer.

“Did you order twelve Goodyears ?"

"Certainly—and tell my man to hurry
up!”

The clerk would fill the order, Miller

would load the stuff in his car, I'd stroll
out of the retail store, meet Miller and
sell the stuff to a fence. We worked that
racket for all sorts of stuff and made
lot of money. Not once did we have to
run to make a getaway and, sometimes, it
would be weeks before the fraud was dis-
covered.

NE evening while Miller and I were
eating a couple of bowls of chili, he

said: “Listen, kid, I’ve got the best racket
of all. Just wait till tomorrow and we'll
try it out."

The next day we parked the car opposite
the Hotel Jefferson and started walking
down St. Charles Street.

111

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True Detective Mysteries

"What're you looking for?" I asked.

"A merchandise place where they have
one of those old elevators that are operated
with a rope," he said.

“What're you going to pull?”
“The rope," he said,grimly !
We strolled down the loading docks used

Washington Avenue merchants and,
pretty soon, Miller discovered what he was
looking for. It was one of the rope-oper-
| ated elevators, the kind that you give the
rope a pull and the elevator goes up, and
then you give another pull and it stops. A
guy was unloading cases of merchandise
from a wagon, putting the cases on the
elevator and taking them up above.

"'That's our meat," said Miller. "Now,
when that guy puts another case on the
elevator and starts up, you go to the shaft
and, when he gets between the second and
third floor, pull the rope and hold the ele-
vator between the two floors while I drive
away with the wagon. I'll
Bill's in 30 minutes."

'The man came back aíter another case
of goods, put it on the elevator, pulled the
rope and started up. I looked up the shaft
and waited until the car was between the
second and third floors and stopped it there
by hanging on to the rope. Miller got into
the wagon and drove away. The man in
the elevator thought someone was play-
ing a joke on him.

"Let go of that rope," he howled.
"Watcha' trying to do, kid somebody ?"

I held on until Miller was out of sight
and then released the rope. The guy de-
| livered his load» and came down get
| another one—and found his wagon had dis-
| appeared. So had I!

The haul netted us three thousand dol-
lars.

Again and again we worked that racket
and then, one day, Miller said: “Listen, kid,
I've had a big deal on for a week. It’s go-
ing through. A bird is coming out tonight
to see us and, if everything is O. K., we'll
up ten thousand dollars tonight.
We're going to break into the Big League
—and stay there!”

That night I went out to Miller's
await the coming of the stranger.

by

meet you at

clean

to

RNEST MILLER, alias Bergadine,

who had been my instructor and who
had given me all my early lessons in crime,
but who was now my partner, had told me
earlier in the day that we were in for a
new deal. We were going to drop all of
our old rackets, good as they were, and
break into the Big League. A man, a
stranger to me, was to confer with us that
night and outline the new plan and, unless
something went wrong, we would make a
record haul before morning.

Naturally, I was anxious to know the na-
ture of our new enterprise, for crooks are
human like other people and are ambitious
to get along, to do bigger things, and to
become the leaders in their chosen careers.

Sneak thieves aspire to become good
burglars, just as the second-story workers
envy and admire the safe-crackers. Every
crook thinks of himself as a Jimmie Valen-
tine who, one day, will reform and marry
well. So it was that I started out to the
meeting-place more than a little excited.

I found Miller with the stranger. He
was a tall, big man and a good dresser—
with a gun on his hip.

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True Detective Mysteries

"Hello. Ernest,” I said. "Who's the
guy with the gat?"

The big fellow scowled.

"This is Gus Covington," said Miller,
"Gus, meet Ray."

"Glad to meetcha,
hardware? What’s
stickup ?"

"Listen, little boy," said the hard-boiled
Gus, "when I know you better and find I
like you, you can ask me questions, see?"

I was getting pretty tough by this time,
but when this bully talked to me I sat down
and kept quiet.

Gus and Miller began a low-toned con-
versation. I did not realize then, that as
the direct result of that conversation, Mil-
ler and I would soon become freight-car
thieves of country-wide notoriety; that
Miller would become known to the police
as “The Fagin of North St. Louis,” and

the
or a

Gus, but why

on, a murder

that I would get the extra monicker of
“The Fox.” But it was that conversation
that started us as interstate shipment

thieves.

HAT’S the way it goes! Boys don't

look into the future—they don’t take
into account what will happen to them
eventually. Too many of them think, "I'll
do this and get away with it; then I'll quit
and behave myself." They don't stop to
think that, sooner or later, they will do the
thing that will get them in the penitentiary.
Never commit the first crime—that's the
best way to keep, on the straight and nar-
row path. And above all, be careful that
you make the right kind of acquaintances
for whatever your best friends are, you
will ^, 100.

Our meeting with Gus was in November
of 1917, and if you will look on the police
blotter at the St. Louis Central District
you will find that, although Miller and I
had been arrested dozens of times, we were
never held “suspected of interstate ship-
ment thefts” prior to the beginning of 1918.
After Gus and Miller had concluded their
confab, Miller turned to me and said:

“Gus, here, has got a swell racket. It's
stealing from interstate freight shipments.
Merchandise! "That's just our line! Gus
has been getting away with a lot of stuff,
but he ain't got any good fences and he's
up against it. We got the fences, kid, and

LIQUID HELL

Seldom if ever before has such a tale
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to send his subordinate to a frightful
death and of the almost unbelievable

consequences which followed.

You wil find it in Rep BLOODED
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15th, together with the many other
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25 cents per copy; in Canada 30 cents.
A Macfadden Publication.

113

EARLE LIEDERMAN —The Muscle Builder

Author of "Muscle Building," "Science of Wrestling,"
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What Do Women
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Women want he-men for their husbands and
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the mental decisions he makes, He'll win out every time.

Look Yourself Over!

How do you shape up? Are you giving yourself a
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EARLE LIEDERMAN , !
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without any obligation
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l
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We
good gingham and we know good
We're going in business with Gus,
here. We're going to meet him at mid-
night for the first haul. He's going out
to line up a load."

Then I did a little talking. "Listen,
Ernest, you and me have got along swell.
We get along fine with the cops, don't we?
Why? Because they ain't never nailed us
with a gat. Do we carry rods, like Gus
here, or don't we? The workhouse never
did have an appeal to me. I'm for stash-
ing the rod."

Miller said he thought we could get
along O. K. without the gats, and Gus
promised to stash his. Funny thing, too. I
found out that Gus never was "hard"
when he didn't have a rod on him. He was
mighty meek without it!

We picked Gus up at midnight down on
Broadway and drove out to the Bremen
yards, where Gus had a case of dry goods,
a case of cigars, some shoes and some cor-
sets stashed behind a lumber-pile. We took
it to a fence in North St. Louis and, the
next day, I got $2,000 for my end of the
haul.

Come easy, go easy! The very
night the gamblers got most of mine.

We didn't see Gus for a couple of days
and, as I was broke, and anxious to make
another raid, Miller and I decided to play
a lone hand and make a bigger profit. At
midnight we drove down to the Bremen
yards and gave the freight cars the “once-
over.” We were greenhorns then and
didn’t know a merchandise car from a
grain car, but we picked one that looked
like it might have our kind of stuff in it.
I broke the seal and forced the door—and
found the car was loaded with automobiles.

Just then, I saw a shadow moving along
a line of freight cars and coming toward
us. I grabbed Miller and pointed. We
dropped to our hands and knees.

Bang!

There was a flash of fire—a loud re-
port—and a slug of lead buried itself in the
car, right where I had been standing! We
crawled under the car and dashed for
cover, with the watchman banging away at
us as fast as he could fire and reload. We
ran out of the yards with a second watch-
man opening fire on us, raced to the auto-
mobile, stepped on the starter and sped
away. Sacramento, I was scared! It was
the first time I had ever heard the whine of
a bullet. Miller was pale as a ghost.

When Gus heard about it, he said:
"Listen, you birds, don't get so anxious to
do your stuff until you learn how to do it.
You got to have a lot of knowledge and a
lot of co-operation to steal freight. Count
me in next time."

We did not need his warning !

we're expert merchandise merchants.
know
silk.

next

N December, 1917, I had started keeping

company with the girl who is now my
wife. She thought I was Miller's chauí-
feur. I had followed the old system and
had worked the same racket on her that I
worked on my mother, and she kept on be-
lieving it until after we were married. A
guy can't fool his wife, however, any more
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story.

That New Year's Eve I took my girl
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True Detective Mysteries

in and told me that Miller wanted me out-
side. I replied I would be out aíter the
first act. It was Gus. He went out and
pretty soon Miller came in.

"Get your hat and coat—we got a big
job," he whispered close to my ear, so my
girl wouldn't hear him.

I had made up my mind not to go with
Miller, because I wanted to stay there with
my girl. I was courting her. I
reply.

Pretty soon Miller got tired of
ing there and he called out:

"Come on, kid—we're in a hurry!”

“What does he want you for?" my girl
asked.

"My car's stuck—he's
out," Miller lied.

She told me to go ahead, that she would
£o home with her sister.

"You might lose your job,"
pered.

I followed

made no

stand-

got to pull me

she whis-
Miller to the lobby. Then we
went over to a garage, secured a truck and
drove to Lewis Street. There was a
freight car on the railroad siding, and the
seal was broken. Gus was there. We be-
gan unloading the car, which was loaded
with of cigarets. After I got a
load I drove to the home of a fence and
he had to move some furniture out of one
room to provide space for the cases. Then
I went back and got a second load. We
had no trouble, everything had been fixed.

That little job brought in $20,000.00 but
it had to be split several ways.

In the next few weeks Miller and I mas-
tered the art of looting freight cars, be-
gan making alliances, and soon Gus, who
had started us on that racket, was just
working for us and wasn't cut in on the
big money

One night Miller called me on the tele-
phone. “Got a hot tip! Car all set for us.
Dash out!”

I met him and we drove over
Bremen yards and parked the car. As we
started to walk to the spot where the
freight car was supposed to be, a man came
running up whom we recognized.

“For God's sake, keep away from that
car!" he whispered. "It's a plant! Captain
John Hannegan and a bunch of bulls are
hiding down there just waiting for you to
begin work."

We beat it, and the next day we learned
that Hannegan, using a couple of stool
pigeons, had arranged to frame us and
catch us red-handed. The next time, how-
ever, we were not so lucky. A week later,
Miller told me everything was ready for
the biggest haul yet. We drove up into
North .St. Louis, parked the car and
sneaked into the railroad yards to look
things over.

'There was the

Cases

to the

car, with the seal broken,
and the door already open. I jumped in
and tossed out the first case. As it hit the
ground, Miller shouted and I looked out.
Dark figures were running from all direc-
tions and pistols were barking. We had
been trapped and, as I realized what I was
up against, I leaped out into the darkness!

Guns were spitting fire as I leaped from
the freight car and bullets were whining
through the air and sinking into the side
wal!s of the cars. I hit the ground directly
in front of a policeman. The Cinders cut
my knees and elbows and, as I rolled to-
ward the adjoining string of freight cars,

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a policeman slashed at me with a club.

I was unarmed, so I simply cursed him.
His reply was a bullet which ripped the
padding in the shoulder of my coat. I
scrambled under the car, got up, ran and
escaped. Miller and Gus had gotten away,
too, but the next day we were arrested and
heid for 60 hours.

UR gang had grown in numbers and in

scope of operations. We could bor-
row the trucks of big wholesale concerns
from the garages where the trucks were
stored at night.

We were paying certain night watch-
men in freight yards for tips and protec-
tion, and 30 íreight-yard switchmen were
co-operating with us. Incidentally, a lot
of those switchmen, like myself, are now
in the penitentiary.

Any person can make a monkey out of
the Law for a few days, or even a few
years, but, in the end, the Law will make a
monkey and a convict out of him! Every
young man who still has a chance to turn
back and go straight should do so.

We no longer had to go out and look
for freight cars loaded with merchandise.
Individual watchmen and switchmen did
our work for us, selecting the best cars,
setting them in a convenient place to be un-
loaded, and then letting us know when to
loot them. It was easy work for the
switchmen when the watchman was "in"
on the job, but if the watchman wasn't
"right" they put it over on him, anyway.

Freight cars loaded with merchandise
are plainly marked, and they are always
watched closer than other cars. They are
set on certain tracks and the bosses tell the
night watchmen that there are a certain
number of merchandise cars on a certain
track and to keep their eyes on them. If
the watchman is "right," the switchmen
pick out the car they want while he is
looking on, but if he is a “wrong” guy, they
wait until he has made his round, counted
the merchandise cars and inspected the
seals.

'Then the switchmen, who work in crews
of three, would get busy. They would take
a car loaded with grain, pull the grain card
off, tack the grain card on a merchandise
car and put the merchandise card on the
grain car. Then they would switch the
merchandise car out of the string and put
the grain car in its place, so that when the
watchman counted the cars again none
would be missing. The merchandise car
would then be set in a place convenient for
unloading, and one of the switchmen would
come and notify Miller or myself and we
would go and loot it. When we had fin-
ished, the switchmen would again change
the cards, fix the broken seal and put the
merchandise car back in the string, remov-
ing the grain car.

By working in this fashion the robbery
usually would not be discovered until the
freight car had reached its destination.

Merchandise cars were being set for us
in every freight yard in and around St.
Louis. We would unload them on Lewis
Street, on Carr, Macklind, Bremen Streets,
and up in Baden and out in Kirkwood. The
switchmen involved got a good split on
every deal. We had one crew that set a
car for us at Second and Carr Streets
every Sunday night. We worked an aver-
age of three nights a week and averaged

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We trust you. KEYSTONE NOVELTY CO., Dept. 7R3] GREENVILLE, PA.

Vibrant, Glowing Beauty
AFTER FIFTY

Get Young and Stay Young!
A startling discovery of keeping the face and body
youthful without medicines or drugs. Priceless
information of a scientific process. Without further
cost. Special $1.
BLESORZWORTH co.
B-403 Equitable Bldg., Des Moines, lowa

NO JOKE TO BE DEAF

—Every Deaf Person Knows That

Imake myself hear, after being deaf for 25 years,
with these Artificial Ear Drums.
l wear them day and night.
They stop head noises and ring-
ing ears. They are perfectly
comfortable. No one sees them.
Write me and I will tell you a
true story, how I got deaf and
how I make you hear. Address Medicated Ear Drum
GEO. P. WAY, Artificial Ear Drum Co., (Inc-)
34 Hoffman Bldg, Detroit, Mich.

W,

PHOTOS
ENLARGED

Size 16x20 inches
Same price for full
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groups, landscapes,
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SEND NO MONEY
Just me; Il photo or ana; uu
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UNITED PORTRAIT COMPANY

1652 Ogden Ave. Dept. 999 Chicago, ilL

A PERFECT LOOKING NOSE

Can Easily be Yours
Trados Model No. 25

corrects now all ill-shaped
noses quickly, painlessly,
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give you a pe
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90000 satisfied user z
rocommended by physicians.
years of experience in manu-
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Model 25 jr. for children.
big Wembley Exposition, London,

se adjustment and a
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will

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ct looking

Awarded Prize Medal by
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how to obtain a perfect looking nose.

M. Met Vu Pioneer Noseshaping Specialist

Dept. 31. Binghamton, N. Y.

fully six truck-loads of stuff a week.
Most of our fences at that time were
merchants and some of them were in bus-
iness on Washington Avenue.
We specialized in tobacco, silk, gingham,
shoes, leather and clothing. One night we

got hides valued at $45,000 from a car at
Second and Carr Streets. We did not
know that they belonged to the Govern-

ment and that each hide had Uncle Sam’s
seal on it.

The next day the hides were found in a
shed on Miller’s place and we were ar-
rested. Miller beat the case at the hearing
before the United States Commissioner,
but it spoiled our operations at Second and
Carr Streets.

NE night we had a hurry-up call from
one of our switchmen who said he had
just set a car for us at Second and North
Market Streets. We did not have time to
get trucks, so I beat it out there with the
touring car. I opened the freight-car and
it was full of leather. I had to make ten
crips between the car and our receiver of
stolen property, and the car was only a few
blocks away from the North Market Street
Police Station. We got $15,000 for the
leather.
We made a deal with a certain watch-

man at the Louisville & Nashville Rail-
road's freight-house near Broadway and
Cass Avenue. We could go down there

and pick out anything we wanted. There
were hundreds of cases of merchandise on
the docks and the switchmen were right,
too; so that gave us the opportunity to
frisk any cars that we wanted to break
into. We got two loads a night for a long
time and the watchman showed us so much
stuff we were unable to sell it as fast as
we could steal it, so we had to slow up for
a time.

I want to say right here that honest rail-
road employes are in the big majority, and
that those who worked with us, and were
on the same level as us thieves, were the
dishonest ones such as are found in all
great organizations.

One night Miller called me. I was at
the home of my girl and we were just get-
ting ready to go out, so he told me to meet
him at the Louisville & Nashville freight-
house at midnight. I was a little late get-

ting there and, when I arrived, I saw a new
Hudson

automobile in which an ex-con-

DANCERS and
DANCE LOVERS!

If you are a professional dancer, or a
follower of those who dance on the
stages of American theatres, you can-
not be without THE DANCE Maga-
zine.

For example, the February issue
contains an article by Albertina Rasch
on the American ballet. You have
seen her groups of dancers on Broad-
way and in vaudeville. Read what
she has to say on this subject.

The February issue of THE DANCE
Magazine—on sale everywhere Jan-
uary 23rd—offers you many striking
features of absorbing interest to all
lovers of the dance. Get your copy
early.

THE DANCE Magazine—a Macfad-
den Publication—35 cents a copy.

True Detective Mysteries

117

Ive trüined hundreds of fellows at home

.E.Smith

Pres

in their spare time for Big Pay Radio Jobs.

Look at These
Earnings

HAS MADE $10,000
MORE IN RADIO

"I can safely say that
I have made $10,000
more in Radio than
I would have made if
had continued at

the old job. When I
enrolled with you I
didn't know a volt
from an ampere., I
advise all ambitious
young men to get into Radio.
There is no greater opportu
nity.”

Victor L. Osgood,

931 Cranford Ave.,
Bronx, New York City

$500 A MONTH

NR.
a trolley
fine, fast

"When I enrolled with
I was a motorman on
car. Now have a
growing Radio business. I have
$2,800 in the bank and about
$300 worth of Radio stock. I
made it all since graduating
less than six months ago.”
Richard Butler,

3535 Sheffield St.,

Philadelphia, Pa.

$3,000 A YEAR

“I cannot

give

too much
credit v

to the N
R. I. for what I
have been able to
do in Radio. I have
averaged $3,000 a
year for the past
three years. I am
in the Radio busi-
ness. I consider all
the success I have
obtained so far due
to your training.”
Fred A. Nichols,
Hereford, Colo

entirely

I give you a home
xperimental
laboratory. You can
design and build 100
withit. Here are two

up with N, R

Radio’s amazing growth is making hundreds of big-pay
jobs every year. Trained men are needed. You young
ambitious men starting out who are looking around for
something really good and you older men who aren't
satisfied but want more money—here’s a field. that is
growing fast enough to bring success in a vear or two.
I have doubled, tripled, quadrupled the salaries of men
in one year. My book points out the many jobs in
Radio. Clip the coupon. Get a copy now. Why be
satisfied with anything less than $50 to $250 a week
when that's what Radio pays its good men?

So Many Opportunities Many Begin Making
$10 to $30 a Week Extra Almost at Once

You don’t have to wait one year, two years, not even six
months, to begin getting the extra money you want.
I'll show you the plans and ideas that are making $10,
$20 and $30 a week extra for my students—show you
how to begin doing it, too, the first month if you study
hard and follow my plans. G. W. Page, 1807 21st
Ave., S.. Nashville, Tenn., made $935 in his spare time
while taking my course. Earle Cummings, 18 Webster St., Haverhill,
Mass., writes: “Ihave made as high as $375 in one month in my
spare time. No need to worry about money: this is the famous
course that pays for itself.

A great trainin

Learn at Home

Don't lose a minute from your job
made £reater- All I ask is part of your spare time.
.

My practical method of training with

Zevision

six big outfits of Radio parts makes

e learning at home easy, fascinating, a
now included pleasure. Boys 14, men up to 60,
Televisi have finished my course successfully.
and On. can easily You don't need a high school educa-
, quickly become tion. Many of my most successful

` the whole graduates didn't even finish the grades.
field is today.

you ought

You Must Be Satisfied

The day you enroll I'l give you a
contract eeing to refund every
penny of ir money if you are not

satisfied with the lessons and instruc-

tion I give you.

Get This Book at ONCE!

Rich rewards in Radio" shows where
the big jobs are, what
they pay, what others are
making. It has started
hundreds of fellows on
the road to bigger money
who thought success was
not for them. Get a
copy. Not the slightest
obligation. Do it now.

J. E. Smith, Pres.
Dept. 9N85

National Radio Inst.
Washington, D. C.

our
raining will

complete
hook

=K

you

circuits
—

J. E. Smith, President, =
Dept. 9N85, National Radio Institute,
Washington, D. C.
Dear Mr. Smith:
Rewards in Radio.” A
making opportuniti

Send me your book "Rich |
I want to know about the |
ies in Radio and your |

money itie
practical method of training men at home in |
their spare time to become Radio experts. This
request does not obligate me |

Í
Name \ge |
Addres

i
City State |

STEADY
GOVERNMENTS

JOB

r /
$1260 to $3400

A YEAR
PICK YOUR JOB

RAILWAY POSTAL CLERK
Railway Postal Clerks get $1900 the first year, being paid
on the first and fifteenth of each month. $78.00 each pay
day. Their pay is quickly increased, che maximum being
$2.700a year. $112.50 each pay day.
CITY MAIL CARRIERS, POST OFFICE CLERKS

Clerks and carriers now commence at $1,700 a year and
automatically increases $100 a year to $2,100 and $2,300.
They also have 15 days’ paid vacation.

GOVERNMENT CLERK
(Open to men and women 18 or over)

Salary $1,260 to $2,100 a year. Pleasant clerical work in
the various government departments at Washington,
D. C., and throughout the country.

T FREE LIST OF POSITIONS

^Fil out the following coupon. Tear it off
it today—now at once.
SS A lS! —
FRANKLIN INSTITUTE,
Dept. L-215. Rochester, N. Y.
1) a full description of the pobition checked
ug: | (3) Free Copy of 32-page book, "How to
"5 (4) A list of the U. vernment Jobs now

(51900-52700)

and mail

obtainable:

O Railway Posta! Clerk
O Postoffice Clerk .
O City Mail Carrier
O Rural Mail Carrier.
O General Clerk

O Prohibition Agent—Investigator....... (52300-33400)

Us» This Co Before You" Mila oo ae eee

MUSIC LESSONS vour HOME

You can read music like this quickly

Write today for our FREE BOOKLET. It tells how tolearn
to play Piano, Organ, Violin, Mandolin, Guitar, Banjo, etc.
Beginners or advanced players. Your only expense about
3c per day for music and postage used.

AMERICAN SCHOOL of MUSIC — 88 Manhattan Building, Chicago

10 Inches Off
Waistline In

*T reduced from 48 inches to 38
inches in 35 days," says R. E.
Johnson, of Akron, O., *just by
wearing a Director Belt. Stom-
ach now firm, doesn't sag and X
feel fine."

The Director Belt gets at the
cause of fat and quickly re-
it by its gentle, kneading,

g ion on the abdo-
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sands have proved it and doctors
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Sent on Trial

Let us prove our claims.
We'll send a Director for trial.
If you don’t get results you owe
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Write for trial offer, doctors’ en-
dorsements and letters from
users. Mail the coupon NOW!

LANDON & WARNER
332 S. La Salle St., Chicago, III.

Gentlemen: Without cost or obligation on my part

please send me details of your trial offer. |
|
Name... ————— |

|
Addresa...... — |

True Detective Mysteries

vict was seated. I walked over to the boys.

"Where's the rest of the mob?" I asked.

“Down in the yards," was the answer.

We sat there talking. It was bitter cold.
A street-car passed, its windows covered
with ice. I saw two guys with their noses
flattened against the glass looking out. I
didn't like it! We watched to see if they
got off at the next corner, but they didn't.
We felt better. But, a minute or two later,
shooting started down in the yards and
Miller came running out.

"Beat it!" he shouted, leaping into the
car.

As I tried to start the car the coppers
came rushing at us, firing as they ran. The
engine turned over, and we started away.
A bullet smacked into the hood and another
ripped open a front tire. We drove away
on the flat and escaped. The watchman,
who had been caught red-handed, was fired
and that ended our operations with the
Louisville & Nashville Railroad. The next
day we were pinched as usual, but the
police could not make a case against us.

My girl was nervous and suspicious.
She begged me to quit running around
with Miller. "If you will leave Miller

and get another job, we will get married,"
she said.

I promised and the next day I got a job
at the Columbia Box Factory driving a
truck. I worked steadily for two months.
Then, one morning as I arrived for work,
I saw Detectives Fritsche and Smith stand-
ing on the corner. Fritsche grabbed me.
"Come ori, Ray," he said, and he called the
wagon.

What have the police got up their
sleeve this time for Renard? He had
promised his girl he would go straight,
and she promised, if he would, that she
would marry him. "What will this prom-
ise avail him now? Read in next month's
issue of this magazine of what happens,
and how he gets in with William P.
(Dint) Colbeck, leader of the notorious
Egan gang, and of the cold-blooded bat-
tles that follow, not only in freight rob-
beries, store robberies, bank hold-ups,
extortion and murder, but killings in an
inhuman, frightful manner within the
gang itself. Don’t miss this sensational
exposé of criminal life at its worst, from
the “inside” in March True Derective |
Mysteries, on the stands February 15th. |

A Woman Who Lives
With a Ghost!

Mrs. Flora E. Roy, widow of a
prominent physician, dared to buy the
most famous haunted house in the
United States—the ''Ocean-Born Mary"
house at Henniker, New Hampshire.
Weird and wonderful things have
happened there—and are still hap-
pening. If you are skeptical about
the invisible world, you should read
her amazing confession in the Febru-
ary Guost STORIES.

The February GHosr STORIES con-

tains fourteen shivery and inspiring
stories of the occult. It's the most
thrilling magazine in the world!

Guost SroRiES—on the news stands
January 23rd, 25 cents a copy—30
cents in Canada.

Piles

End your pain this mod-
ern way.

Use UNGUENTINE
RECTAL CONES, en-
dorsed by doctors
everywhere. Soothing,
healing — they stop the
torture of bleeding, itch-
ing piles. At your drug-
gist's— 75c.

For stubborn cases,
doctors also urge the use
of NOROL-AGAR, a
mild, safe lubricant, pre-
scribed by physicians even
for children. Write for

FREE trial. The Norwich
harmacal Co., Dept.
TD-2, Norwich, N.Y.

LSRisT WATCH

lai

bo:
| no money, just name and address ro A
Supply Co. Dept. P631 Greenville, Pa.
This Patented

BOW LEGS? GARTER

Makes Trousers HANG STRAIGHT if
Legs Bend In or Out—FREE BOOKLET
MAILED IN PLAIN SEALED ENVELOPE
THET GARTER CO., Dept.D

South Bend, Indiana

"Play Piano By Ear

Play popular song hits perfectly. Hum
the tune, play it by ear. No teacher—
eelf-instruction. No tedious ding-dong
daily practice—just 20 brief entertaining
lessons, ensily mastered.
At Home in Your Spare Time
Send for FREE BOOK. Learn many styles
of bass and syncopation—trick end-
ings. or stampe)
i

new tricks. stunts. ete.
Niagara School of Music
Dept. 307, Niagara Milis, N. Y,

New,
3 SALES IN EVERY HOME

Make:i90 aWeek

[790773
Justout—latestthinginhome
furnishings—handsome, colorful
Rubber Art Rugs. Allthe rage!
Made in blues, taupe grays, ma-
roons, with borders of contrasting
colors, dre atractivo, One out-
wears three ordinary rugs. Never
looks shabby. Lies fiat, will not curl
up. Clings to floor—never slips. Soft
and easy on the feet. No laundering
necessary—simply wipe off. Ideal for
hallways, between rooms, kitchen,
bathroom, entranceways,
wild about them. Low pric

ast. Every home needs at least
=jthree. Simply show one and take
orders. Pocket FREE O No ex-

nce needed. F EE OUTFIT

Sell

Get

poo
p es
Here's an opportune
ity for everyone to
develop big muscles
obtain great
th by using this
man, be nsioned PRO-
GRESSIVE RCISER
adjustable fro to 200 Ibs.
Lo

resistance. Complete instructions
come with each exerciser.
Get rid of those aches and pains, indiges-
tion, constipation, headaches, ete., and build
p your body and look like a real He man!

SEND NO MONEY!

Simply pay the postman
on delivery, $2.00, plus
a few cents postage, for
five-cabled exerciser, or
$4.00, plus postage, for
ten - eabled exerciser.
Money back in five days
if dissatisfied. "Write

PROGRESSI
EXERCISER A
Beet. 802,
Building, Duane
and B
lew York

True Detective Mysteries 119

DISSOLVING VIE

Make Your Watches, Clocks, S Ete
Z ici disco’ i jentibo
€ Visible by Night Pry ceric ipea
able EU at an exorbitant price, we bave at last succeeded in producing this remarkable
LUMINOUS PAINT, which, applied to tbe surfare of any article, emits rays of white Hight.
rendering it perfectly visible in the dark. THE DARKER THE NIGHT, THE MORE BRIL- : in ad
SHINES. Quite simple to use. Anyone—you caa doit, A little applied to the dial miration o
h or clock will le you to tell the time by night. You can coat the push bu . 1 retty picture an
itoh plates of your electric lights, match boxes, and innumerable other article: ith urns the buttonin
'our TIR Crucifixes, Luminous Ri etc. Small bog ario 25c. ters (^ the. gon dentezpactation of sei p something intor:
and $t potpali. ..2O ons Dept. ace ws. bout dans the observer experiences a very great surprise. SO
cents each postpaid. JOHNSON SMITH & CO.

. = ms
Lover’sKnot or Friendship Ring
Made of 4 strands
“annot go b. of genuine 14K gold
Oc per 100. filled wire, wovenin-

Y j No C.0. to the True Lover'a
CIGARETTE : 4 Dept. 893 Racine, Wis. | Knot, s mbolic of

2 love or friendship.

MAKER ow Your Voice Viise
Roll your own and eave ^. | JUST LIKE ORDINARY CIG- ON A Pach fing ie
cave’ more’ than i US GOOD LUCK RING |aserr UT SU Into a trunk, under the bed or wire expert. Itlooks
Your favorite brand of tobac» | | Very. striking, quaint end R Tm anywhere, Lotsof fun fooling the }# good and it is good.
Pocket sisa, weighs 35 os. | skull and erossbones desis i ZA teacher, policemanor friends, E: RW | Price soc Postpaid

b
Made entirely of | metal, | two, brilliant, fashing geme p j Johnson Smith & Co.
kel plated. 25€, 3 for 656 t of the eyes. Baid to " 1 à The VENTR LO
A. EA y the Seed Tuck “On ale one-third smoked, the victim I SN

L
cote & very great surprise aa & little instrument, fits in + ji a
} th n 4] CN
GES | 1:21 ric eo BANOT tice 25e box. themouthoutof sight, used | re T P

SURPRISE MATCHES with above for Bird Calls,

More A dan vo emen useit. Never fails.
0 un 16-Page Course on

fighting with your Ventriloquism and ALL FOR
Tike ordi nary the Ventrilo...... 10Ce Hold the MAGIC INDICATOR
matches. Put up h fines

c : instantly it moves in a straight line,

in boxes Just like reg-] (je x forward. Hold it o woman’

ular Safety Matches. , 3 scribee & complete and continuous circle. Tbe same

As the victim tries to ^ | action can be obtained over a letter written by a man
or woman, etc. Itis fascinating? baffling. We have

light one he gets quite a surprise. h never been able to figure out how it's done, but we

pia. nmm Price 10c per box, 3 boxes for 25c, 12 for 75 cents, have never seen it fail. Many novel and entertain-

Oc, each Badge. 3

m to the
for 250, or per
dox. postpaid anywhere.

e
MIDG ET BIBLE |: It is made in tho shape of and looks like @ regular Automatic Pistol, No
GREAT

combination. No one is likely to stop and sak you whether it is real or not. Thus it ie likel
key necessary. - to If very handy i e y. On pressing tbe trigger it
For your locker, 4 hown in the illustr: n at the right, revealing nine most useful
bieyele, t articles Opera and Field Glass, Telescope, Mirror, Magnifying Glase and
che t 3 Lens, Reading Glass, Sun Dial, Bun Compass, etc. In the handle
r r there in a place for various pocket necessaries, euch as First

Buttons, Pins, ete. The Pistol ie of sheet metal, blued finish,

comfortably in pocket. PRICE $1.00 postpaid.

Ween ils MENSES) | Watch Charm

$ — e — dr ug ig 2
t and fu ise
inted. Make good money | instructions with 3 tol; actuali
rends, obureh. scquaintances, | mstructions wi REAL BLANE

en 3 4 e^ n
b lock. Price n
e Oc, 12 for + l
1.35, 100 for eT 2. ^ obtainable in | 45€ or 3 for 65c postpaid. Postpaid

ther Binding, with gold edces. Price SOc rf l : i Ant € lon
La! ever inven! e
gach. 3 tor $1.25, $4:50 per dot. Magni- Wonderful X-Ray Tube j > X | Bs drawine the Tank backward, either with the hand
| eee ES A wonderful little j foe | or over the figor or table and then placing it down
t yill craw ong, overcoming a! jes, in
Ithabunch A ECEUIDOUS DEOS ettacbing toj zi nelife-like manner as the larger Tank that proved
of thesebills, ucing optical i : match chain. bio deadly in the great war. What makea it go is
it is easy for illusions both Eu like & regular pistol, Pull the trigger and it goes off with somewhat of a mystery, for there is no mechaniam
: istol is break open ty illustration shows position for loading. er lly und. ood with banical
each person e entirely of high grado steel, nickel plated, octagon barrel, handsomely | tO wind up asis usually understood with mechan
of limited engraved handles, complete in box with cleaning rod toss, yetthietankwillkeep plodding slong ten times
means to Also furnished with pear! handles, $ BLANK CARTRIDGES, 50c | longor than the ordinary run of toys. It will perform
appear per box of 25. HNSON SM & CÒ., . 893 RACINE, Wi dozens of the most wonderful stunts. 25c prepaid.

rosperous eS ÓÀ
O! i sory sro eta TRANSMITTER BUTTON ITCHING Powder

aire i Stance ; ical Joke] the In tenas dis-

- M Every Boy His Own Toy Maker GABA comtiture'ot your victime to

ain proper if eres book foe be s. It ~ y everyone Dus sbemecives a

in, tici 4 oroughly enjo e.

time and peeling sete genuine bis (ions for making all manner of " k : that is necessary to start the

or two from the outside of the roll, toys, machines and otber are b ball rolling is to deposit a lit-

the effect created 2 be tona to i amusing Und. etu. tle of the tpe
jesired. s mi eam s band an e.

postpaid: 40 Bills 20c, 120 for S0c; Sngine a : D can be relied upon to do the

pos - id. á era, e | á rest. The result is a vigorous scratch, then some

or $3.50 thousand postpald. — Electrical r letecto- | more scratch, and still some more. 10cbox, 3 boxes
— You can ensily make highly eensitive detecto- È

AGIC NOSE FLUTE Battery ; TEN LA hone by, using thie Transmitter Button to collect | for 25c or 75¢ KE ge eat N

M E ping Apparatus, Tel ak he eound waves. You ean build your own outfit | Johnson Smith & Co., Dept. 893, Racine, Wis.

of all kinds C without buying expensive equipment. It ie simple

Tia Masio ont Mata at Bo; | Ft Ao Ms ied M ea ennist keis] m dy. ANARCHIST BOMBS

Ae) 1 a t up different roome of a
strument that | G Slings, Fishing Tackle, Rabbit an can connec’ f One of these glasaviala dropped
Traps, ete» 200 ifustrations. PRICE ` operatives during the wat. “It fe Laine weed on ihe $na room full of people will cause
Postpaid. Postage Stamps accepted. z " It ie vl tive and is the greatest ine 1 more consternation thanalimbur-
1 in playing | , m in micro-phones. You ean mount tbe gercheeee. Thesmell entirely dis-
it which, when once ace S erp en t s Eggs ` button almost anywhere—card board boxes, etove ast in & short fime d. a
quired after e little prace ipes, stiff calendars, on the wall behind & picture ox, 3 Boxesfor28c or7S5cper
tice, will enable you to | Box eontains 12 exes. When N kame, ete. Button le eo light and small it cannot dozen. Shipped by Express,
Paid produce very eweet | lit with a match, each one detected. Persone can be overheard without - JOHNSON SMITH & COMPAN
10c musie that somewhat | gradually be! iteelf into è ting it. You can listen in on conversations
fesembles a fute. There | snake v fo’tnother room. A deaf person, in the audience POWDER
fe no fingering, and once you have mastered | feet bone, whic 4 can bear the speaker. Connected to phonograph,
it you can play - ae of mule uq facility pA- Ap " tend C n piano or other mu A instrument, musio cap Place a very small a-
ease. Whe acco l eard rede of ^ used te e
fee pace or any other m instrument, | life-like manner. transmitters; often makes an cid li talk up" when nothing diae wil. The d mount of this powder
the effect.

ie as charming ae it is surprising. ideal microphone for radi carries heavy current and ie extremely sensi» y- epithe back o i inte

wi
tive. Amplifiee radi Countl th ih in est i ^

REMARKABLE VALUE IN WRIST WATCHES |i rere doa s butina cil fr buried t da iim edm
fasc £ stunte may be devised, such ae bolding the button against the ~ nowing the re

throat or chest to reproduce epeech without sound waves. PRICE $1. "^. hy. It
JOHNSON SMITH & CO., DEPT. 893, RACINE, WIS. ) > ng toh

marks, ai

MAGICIAN'S BOX OF TRICKS |: mu.

your
Apparatus and Directions for a Number of Mys- e
terious Tricks, Enough for Out,
an Entire Evening'a ^ e ped by E
tertain: Dept.

n Tete AA : COMICAL
OE e / Ni GENE. MOTTO RINGS

Lots of harmless funand
amusement wearing tbene

e. y / rings. Made in platinol
CUSHION SHAPE | OCTAGON SHAPE SQUARE SHAPE pl - ! > finish (to resemb]e piati-
Unbeatable) "i aways popularcctae | One of the latest and lid has "d ; ^ num). Wija wopdiog oa
yalue in à man’s | con shape, sizo 1034 L most popular shapes, qin gon poc xj l x Price 25€ ea. Postpaid
Sport Model Wrist |silver nickel e B size 1044 Ligne, with ( made to chang Johnson Smith & Co., Dept: $95, cine, Wis.
Waton. Case i8 [finish back. 3 CURV ED BACK, V
nickel- ate reliable 6 jewel lever mov shape of wrist, ase is genus N t
Bigkor A gs reliable ew lever move, | shape of prigi, Cass te qmm Blsced in the wooden bor, vanishes | Rubber Chew
metal dial, with radium | with Luminox D of white or green gold), and K lase of water and when the water is Gum It is just like a
figures and bands. Leverj ands. Shows tim " ean be bad in 6 or 15 Jewels. d e ound somewhere else); the RIBBON re
Gecapement movement. |in the dark Tho square dial is silvered and ACTORY FROM upply of | package o
Fino quality leather strap in the dark. has luminous figures and bands colored ARING | chewing rum
with nickel buckle, er finely ai showing time in dark, Best HAND he! vanishee); and locke eo
first-class timekeeper.| buckle to match. For men | quality cowhide leather strap, IA ;D BOTTLE (no | real that it
An undoubted bassai at or boys, a gift that cannot | With 6 $12. 50 T fools every- 10c a Pkoe
the price. ull Y [fail to be appreciated, Jewels... e ndere | body, And no S for 256 Postpaid

d no om to E, oneof course
Pri Price th 1 is not til they start to chew
Poena. $3.9 Postpaid.. $9.95 gà $16.50 fe" There's a world of fon in thie rubber ches

JOHNSON SMITH & CO. Dept. 893 RACINE, WIS. the Price complete $1.00 pos Sior 28e; 12 tor 78e. Postpaid, Stama d
ADe Luxe Edition of our new 1929 CATALOG malled on

erietenco. Nearly GOO pager of al the latest tricks in vest tie ADDRESS ORDERS FOR ALL GOODS ON THIS PAGE TO

Gist ken geass dur JOHNSON SMITH & CO. FI- Racine, Wis.

120 True Detective Mysteries

uu
b A^
X
L4
J ‘ P
Li

"5^4. Find the key to unlock
(>is FREE Bag/Gold

HERE are 19 keys pictured
ZZ here. To be sure, they all
N look alike, but, examine them 19

Du | | \ WS)

wi closely. 18 of them are exactly alike

l \ ) aN but **ONE,*? and only one is DIF-
wl Ny € SS
Ilii: / 9 TRU c N \

FERENT FROM ALL THE
ANE EBA = OPEN THE PADLOCK on this

/ VM OTHERS. It is the key to
LT (i ; F LA

WW Ness aS $3,000.00 FREE “Bag of Gold.”

1 Pee ee SEE IF YOU CAN FIND IT.

(9) The difference may be in the size, the shape, or even

CLUES in the notches. So, STUDY EACH KEY CARE-

FULLY and if you can find the “ONE” KEY that

is different from all the others SEND THE NUMBER OF IT TO ME AT
ONCE. You may become the winner of a Chrysler “75” Royal Sedan or $3,000.00
cash money,—without one cent of cost to you. I will give away ABSOLUTELY
FREE,—5 new six-cylinder 4-door Sedans and the winners can have CASH 17
MONEY INSTEAD of the automobiles if they prefer it. 25 BIG PRIZES TO

ee >

BE GIVEN FREE—totaling $7,300.00 cash.

=> Or Win a CHRYSLER “75” Sedan <a

— —— nt
A Choice of this beautiful Chrysler “75” Royal Sedan or $3,000.00 cash. We pay all the freight
and tax in full on all the prizes and deliver them anywhere in the U. S. A. This is an AMAZ-
ING OPPORTUNITY. ACT QUICK, and here is why—
3 $1,000.00 CASH —EXTRA FOR PROMPTNESS

I will pay $1,000.00 cash money extra JUST FOR PROMPTNESS. Duplicate prizes will be
paid in full in case of ties. YOU CAN WIN the Chrysler “75” Royal Sedan or—$3,000.00
cash. ANSWER QUICK.

Absolutely everyone who takes full ad-

| ou Cannot Lose vantage of this opportunity will be

rewarded. But, hurry, — find the

"ONE?" key that is different from all the others and RUSH THE NUMBER OF IT and

your name and address to me TODAY on a postal card or in a letter. And, just say:—‘Key

number...... is different from all the others. Please tell me how I can get this magnificent

Gos ‘7S’ Royal Sedan—or—$3,000.00 CASH MONEY without obligation or one penny
of cost to me.” 15

E. COLLINS, 537 South Dearborn St.
Dept. 567, CHICAGO, ILL.

Mlle eee

Amazingly Easy Way
to get into ELECTRICITY

Don't spend your life waiting for $5 raises in a dull, hopeless job. Now... and

forever... say good-bye to 25 and 35 dollars a week. Let me show

you how to

quos for jobs leading to salaries of $50, $60 and up, a week, in Electricity—NOT

y correspondence, but by an amazing way to teac

that makes you an electrical

expert in 90 days! Getting into Electricity is far edsier than you can imagine!

Learn

an armature from an air
brake—I don’t expect you
to! I don’t care if you’re
16 years old or 48—it makes
nodifference! Don’tlet lack

of money stop you. Mostof `

the men at Coyne have no
more money than you have,
That’s why I have worked
out my astonishing offers.

EARN WHILE
LEARNING

If you should need part-time
work, I'll assist you to it.
Then, in 12 brief weeks, in
the great roaring shops of
Coyne, I train you as we
never dreamed you could be
trained. . . om the greatest
outlay of electrical appara-
tus ever assembled. . . cost-

ing hundreds of thousands of dollars
... real dynamos, engines, power
plants, autos, switchboards, trans-
mittingstations...everything from
doorbells to farm power and light-
ing...full-sized. . . in full opera-

tion.every day!

NoBooks - NoClasses
No books, no baffling charts,
ses—you get individual training...
all real, actual work. . . building real

COYN

Like These

Here are a few of hundreds of
positions open to Coyne-trained
men. Our free employment
bureau gives you lifetime em-
ployment service,

Armature Expert, $100 a Week
Substation Operator, $65 a wk.
Auto Electrician, $110 a Week
Inventor

$200 a Week
Radio Expert . . $100 a Week
Aviation Electricity: S75awk.up

no clas-

Students wiring and checking ignition on one of the late
type Radial Aircraft Engines in our aviation department,

batteries... winding real arma-
tures, operating real motors,
dynamos and generators, wir-

ing houses, etc., etc. That's
a glimpse of how we make
you a master electrician in
90 days, teaching you far
more than the average ordi-
nary electrician ever knows
and fitting you to step into
jobs leading to big pay im-
mediately after graduation.
Here, in this world-famous
Parent school—and nowhere
else in the world—can you
get such training!

ob - Pay - Future

on't worry about a job,
Coyne training settles the
job question for life. De-
mand for Coyne men often
exceeds the supply. Our
employment bureau gives

I am including
my new Avia-
tion Electricity
Course to all
who enroll now.

ELECTRICAL SCHOOL !

H. C. LEWIS, Pres., Dept. 29-65 ,
500 S. Paulina Street Established 1899 CHICAGO, ILLINOIS ;

Get This
FREE Book

H. C. LEWIS, President

Coyne Electrical School, Dept. 29-65
500 S. Paulina St., Chicago, Ill.

Dear Mr. Lewis:

Without Books n9 avs

Lack of experience—age, or ad-
vanced education bars no one.
I don’t care if you don't know

you lifetime service. Two weeks after
graduation, Clyde F. Hart got a position
as an electrician with the Great Western
Railroad at over $100 a week. That's not
unusual. We can point to Coyne men mak-
ing up to $600 a month. $60a week is only
the beginning of your opportunity. You
can go into radio, battery, automotive, or
general electrical business for yourself
and make up to $15,000 a year.

GET THE FACTS

Coyne is your one great chance to get into
electricity. Every obstacle is removed.
This school is 30 years old— Coyne train-
ing is tested—proven Meca all doubt—en-
dorsed by many large electrical concerns.
You can find out everything absolutely
free. Simply mail the coupon and let me
send you the big, free Coyne book of 150
photographs... facts... jobs... salaries
* Opportunities, Tells you how many earn expense

while training and how we assist
BE

our graduates in the field. This
atonce. Just mail coupon. /

does not obligate you. So act
Pp
[sar

Without obligation send me your big free catalog and all de-

tails of Free Employment Service, Aviation Electricity, Radio
and Automotive °
I understand 1 will not be bothered by any salesman.

ourses, and how I can ''earn while learning."

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162 Lamp Bldg. Estab. 1898 Akron, Ohio